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/ 


POSTHUMOUS PAPERS 


or 

THE PICKWICK CLUB. 


BY CHARLES DICKENS. 

M 

nrifAAivTY^* 

' Ci 

PEOPLE'S EDITION. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 


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BEST EDITION OF MY BOOKS 


IS, or BIQHT, INSOBIBED TO MY DEAR FRIEND 

JOHN FORSTER, 

- BIOGRAPHER® OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

» OKATEFaL REMEXBKAXCB OF THE 

MANY PATIENT HOURS HE HAS DEVOTED TO THE CORRECTION 
OF THE PROOF-SHEETS OF THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS; 

AX1> IE AFFECTIOXATE ACKKOWlEDailXJIT 

OF HII 

COUNSEL, SYMPATHY, AND FAITHFUL FRIENDSHIP, 

BtrSIKO 


MY WHOLE LITERARY LIFE. 


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An author who has much to communicate under this head, 
and expects to have it attended to, may be compared to a 
man who takes his friend by the button at a Theatre Door, 
and seeks to entertain him with a personal gossip before ho 
goes in to the play. 

Kevertheless, as Prefaces, though seldom read, are con- 
tinually written, no doubt for the behoof of that so richly 
and so disinterestedly endowed personage. Posterity (who will 
come into an immense fortune), I add my legacy to the 
general remembrance. 

It was observed, in the Preface to the original Edition, 
that the Pickwick Papers were designed for the introduction 
of diverting characters and incidents; that no ingenuity of 
plot was attempted, or even at that time considered very 
feasible by the author in connection with the desultory mode 
of publication adopted ; and that the machinery of the Club, 
proving cumbrous in the management, was gradually aban- 
doned as the work progressed. Although, on one of these 
points, experience and study have since taught me somethin 
and I could perhaps wish now, that these chapters 
strung together on a stronger thread of general interest, still, 
what they are, they were designed to be. 


ti 


PREFACE, 


1 have seen various accounts in print, of the origin of these 
Pickwick Papers; which have, at all events, possessed — for 
me — the charm of perfect novelty. As I may infer, from the 
occasional appearance of such histories, that ray readers have 
an interest in the matter, I will relate how they came into 
existence. 

I was a young man of three-and-twenty, when the present 
publishers, attracted by some pieces I was at that time 
writing in the Morning Chronicle newspaper (of which one 
series had lately been collected and published in two volumes, 
illustrated by my esteemed friend, Mr. George Cruikshank), 
waited upon me to propose a something that should be pub- 
lished. in shilling numbers — then only known to me, or, I 
believe, to anybody else, by a dim recollection of certain 
interminable novels in that form, which used to be carried 
about the country by pedlars, and over some of' which I 
remember to have shed innumerable tears, before I had 
served my apprenticeship to Life. 

When I opened my door in Furnival’s Inn to the managing 
partner who represented the firm, I recognized in him the 
person from whose hands I had bought, two or three years 
previously, and whom I had never seen before or since, my 
first copy of the Magazine in which my first effusion — 
dropped stealthily one evening at twilight, with fear and 
trembling, into a dark letter-box, in a dark office, up a dark 
court in Fleet Street — appeared in all the glory of print; 
on which memorable occasion — how well I recollect it ! — I 
walked down to Westminster Hall, and turned into it for 
haif-an-hour, because my eyes were so dimmed with joy and 
pride, that they could not bear the street, and were not fit f 


PREFACE. 


rti 


be seen there. I told my visitor of the coincidence, which we 
both hailed as a good omen ; and so fell to business. 

The idea propounded to me was, that the monthly scine- 
thing should be a vehicle for certain plates to be executed by 
Mr. Seymour ; and there was a notion, either on the part 
of that admirable humorous artist, or of my visitor (I forget 
which), that a “ Nimrod Club,” the members of which w^ere 
to go out shooting, fishing, and so forth, and getting them- 
selves into difficulties through their want of dexterity, would 
be the best means of introducing these. I objected, on con- 
sideration, that although born and partly bred in the country, 
I was no great sportsman, except in regard of all kinds of 
locomotion ; that the idea was not novel, and had been 
already much used ; that it would be infinitely better for 
the plates to rise naturally out of the text; and that I 
should like to take my own way, with a freer range of 
English scenes and people, and was afraid I should ultimately 
do so in any case, whatever course I might prescribe to myself 
at starting. My views being deferred to, I thought of Mr. 
Pickwick, and wrote the first number ; from the proof-sheets 
of which, Mr. Seymour made his drawing of the Club, and 
that happy portrait of its founder, by which he is always 
recognized, and which may be said to have made him a 
reality. I connected Mr. Pickwick with a club, because of 
the original suggestion, and I put in Mr. Winkle expressly 
for the use of Mr. Seymour. We started with a number of 
twenty-four pages instead of thirty-two, and four illustrations 
in lieu of a couple. Mr. Seymour’s sudden and lamented 
death before the second number was published, brought a^ 
a quick decision upon a point already in agitation 


PREFACE. 


number became one of thirty-two pages with two illustrations, 
and remained so to the end. My friends told me it was a 
low, cheap form of publication,* by which I should ruin all 
my rising hopes ; and how right my friends turned out to be 
everybody now knows. 

“ Boz,” my signature in the Morning Chronicle, appended 
to the monthly cover of this book, and retained long after- 
ward, was the nickname of a pet child, a younger brother,^ 
whom I had dubbed Moses, in honor of the Yicar of AVake- 
field ; which being facetiously pronounced through the nose, 
became Boses, and being shortened, became Boz. “ Boz” 
was a very familiar household word to me, long before I was 
an author, and so I came to adopt it. 

It has been observed of Mr. Pickwick, that there is a 
decided change in his character, as these pages proceed, and 
that he becomes more good and more sensible. I do not 
think this change will appear forced or unnatural to my 
readers, if they will reflect that in real life the peculiarities 
and oddities of a man who has any thing whimsical about 
him, generally impress us first, and that it is not until we 
are better acquainted with him that we usually begin to look 
below these superficial tMts, and to know the better part 
of him. 

Lest there should be any well-intentioned persons who do 
not perceive the difference (as some such could not, when 
Old Mortality was newly published) between religion and 
the cant of religion, piety and the pretense of piety, a humble 
reverence for the great truths of Scripture, and an audacious 

'^his book would havo cost, at the then established price of novels, about 
’ineas and a halt 


FREFACE. 


\x 

and ofifensive obtrusion of its letter and not its spirit in the 
commonest dissensions and meanest affairs of life, to the 
extraordinary confusion of ignorant minds, let them under- 
stand that it is always the latter, and never the former, which 
is satirized here. Further, that the latter is here satirized 
as being, according to all experience, inconsistent with the 
former, impossible of union with it, and one of the most evil 
and mischievous falsehoods existent in society — whether it 
establish its head-quarters, for the time being, in Exeter 
Hall or Ebenezer Chapel, or both. It may appear unneces- 
sary to offer a word of observation on so plain a head. 
But it is never out of season to protest against that coarse 
familiarity with sacred things, which is busy on the lip, and 
idle in the heart ; or against the confounding of Christianity 
with any class of persons who, in the words of Swift, have 
just enough religion to make them hate, and not enough to 
make them love, one another. 

I have found it curious and interesting, looking over the 
sheets of this reprint, to mark what important social improve- 
ments have taken place about us, almost imperceptibly, even 
since they were originally written. The license of Counsel, 
and the degree to which Juries are ingeniously bewildered, 
are yet susceptible of moderation ; while an improvement in 
the mode of conducting Parliamentary Elections (especially for 
counties) is still within the bounds of possibility. But, legal 
reforms have pared the claws of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg ; 
a spirit of self-respect, mutual forbearance, education, and 
co-operation, for such good ends, has diffused itself among 
their clerks; places far apart are brought together, to the 
present convenience and advantage of the Public, and to the 


X 


ACJS. 


certain destruction, in time, of a host of petty jealousies, | 
blindnesses, and prejudices, by which the Public alone have 
always been the sufferers ; the laws relating to imprisonment 
for debt are altered ; and the Fleet Prison is pulled down ! 

With such a retrospect comprised within so short a period, 
who knows but it may be discovered, within tliis Century, 
that there are even magistrates in town and country, who 
should be taught to shake hands every day with Common- 
sense and Justice; that even Poor Laws may have mercy j 
on the weak, the aged, and unfortunate ; that Schools, on the 
broad principles of Christianity, are the best adornment for 
the length and breadth of this civilized land ; that Prison- 
doors should be barred on the outside, no less heavily and 
carefully than they are barred within; that the universal 
diffusion of common means of decency and health is as much 
the right of the poorest of the poor, as it is indispensable to 
the safety of the rich, and of the State ; that a few petty 
boards and bodies — less than drops in the great ocean of 
humanity, which roars around them — are not to let loose 
Fever and Consumption on God’s creatures at their will, 
or always to keep their little fiddles going for a Dance of 
Death ! 


CONTENTS. 


CHAITKa PAQH 

1. — Tho Pi;kwickians 17 

IL — Tho first Day's Journey, and the first Evening's Adventures j with 

their consequences 23 

III. — A new Acquaintance 52 

IV. — Tho Stroller’s Tale — A disagreeable Interruption; and an un- 

pleasant Rencontre 51 

V. — A Field day and Bivouac — More new Friends; and an Invitation 

to tho Country.. 65 

VL — A short one — showing among other matters, how Mr. Pickwick 
undertook to drive, and Mr. Winkle to ride; and how they both 
did it. 78 

TIL — An old-fashioned Card Party — The Clergyman's Verses — Tho 

Story of the Convict’s Return 89 

VIII. — now Mr. Winkle, instead of shooting at the Pigeon and killing 
the Crow, shot at the Crow and wounded the Pigeon; how the 
Dingley Dell Cricket Club played AU-Muggleton, and how All- 
Muggleton dined at tho Dingley Dell expense: with other in- 
teresting and instructive matters 105 

IXt — S trongly illustrative of the Position, that the course of true love 

ia not » Railway J. 121 


IS 


CONTENTS 


CHAfTEE y-AOE 

X.— ‘A Diseorery and a Chase 135 

XI. — Clearing up all Doubts (if any existed) of the Disinterestedness of 

Mr. Jingle’s Character 145 

XII. — Involving another Journey, and an Antiiuarian Discovery. 

Recording Mr. Pickwick’s determination to be present at 
an Election; and containing a Manuscript of the old Clergy- 


man’s 161 

XIII. — Descriptive of a very important Proceeding on the part of Mr. 

Pickwick; uo less an epoch in his Life than in this History 180 


XTV. — Some Account of Eatansivill ; of the state of Parties therein; and 
of the Election of a Member to serve in Parliament for that 
ancient, loyal, and patriotic Borough..... 187 

XV. — Comprising a brief Description of the Company at the Peacock 

assembled; and a Tale told by a Bagman 207 

XVI. — In which is given a faithful Portraiture of two distinguished Per- 
sons ; and an accurate description of a Public Breakfast in their 
House and Grounds; which Public Breakfast leads to the Re- 
cognition of an old Acquaintance, and the commencement of 


another Chapter 226 

XVII. — Too full of Adventure to be briefly described 241 

XVIII. — Showing that an Attack of Rheumatism, in some cases, acts as a 

Quickener to Inventive Genius 262 

XIX. — Briefly illustrative of two Points : — First, the Power of Hysterics, 

and. Secondly, the Force of Circumstances 271 

XX. — A pleasant Day, with an unpleasant Termination 28S 


XXI. — Showing how Dodson and Fogg were Men of Business, and their 
Clerks Men of Pleasure; an i how an afiecting Interview took 
place between Mr. Weller and his long-lost Parent; showing 
also, what Choice Spirits assembled at the Magpie and Stump, 
T and what a capital Chapter the next one will be.. 


299 


CONTENTS 


13 


CHAFTZK MSI 

XXII. — In which the old Man launches forth into hia favorite theme, 

and relates a Story about a Queer Clieuw 317 

XXIII. — Mr. Pickwick journeys to Ipswich, and meets with a romantic 

Adventure with a middle-aged Lady in Yellow Curl Papers... 336 

XXIV. — In which Mr. Saxhuol Weller begins to devote his energies to the 

Return Match between Himself and Mr. Trotter 354 

XXV. — Wherein Mr. Peter Magnus grows jealous, and the middle-aged 
Lady apprehensive, which brings the Pickwickians within 
the Craspofthe Law.... 363 

XXVI. — Showing, among a variety of pleasant matters, how majestic 
and impartial Mr.Nupkinswas;and how Mr. Weller returned 
Mr. Job Trotter’s Shuttlecock, as heavily as it came. With 


another matter, which will be found in its place 380 

XXVII. — Which contains a brief account of the Progress of the Action 

of Bardell against Pickwick 401 

XXVIIL — Samuel Weller makes a Pilgrimage to Dorking, and beholds 

his Mother-in-law 409 


XXIX. — A good-humored Christmas Chapter, containing an account 
of a Wedding, and some other Sports besid^, which, although 
in their way even as good customs as Marriage itself, are 
not quite so religiously kept up, in these degenerate times... 420 

XXX. — The Story of the Goblins who stoleaSezton 444 

XXXI. — How the Pickwickians made and cultivated the Acquaintance 
of a couple of nice Young Men belonging to one of the Lib- 
eral Professions ; how they disported themselves on the Ice j 


and how their Visit came to a conclusion 455 

XXXII. — Which is all about the Law, and sundry Great Authorities 

learned therein 468 


.XXXIII. — Describes, far more fully than the Court Newsman ever did, 
a Bachelor’s Party, given by Mr. Bol Sawyer at his Lodg- 
ings in the Borough 483 


14 


CONTENTS. 


chaptbbJ pass 


XXXIV. — Mr. Weller the elder delivers some Critical Sentiments re- 
specting Literary Composition; and, assisted by his son 
Samuel, pays a small Installment of Retaliation to the ac- 
count of the Reverend Gentleman with the Red Nose 50] 

XXXV. — Is wholly devoted to a full and faithful Report of the memo- 
rable Trial of Bardell against Pickwick 519 

XXXVI. — In which Mr. Pickwick thinks he had better go to Bath ; and 

goes accordingly 545 


XXXVII. — The chief features of which will be found to be an authentic 
Version of the Legend of Prince Bladud, and a most extra- 
ordinary Calamity that befell Mr. Winkle 56Sr 

XXXVIII. — Honorably accounts for Mr. Weller’s Absence, by describing 
a Soiree to which he was invited and went. — Also relates 
how he was intrusted by Mr. Pickwick with a Private Mis- 
.sion of Delicacy and Importance -575 

XXXIX. — How Mr. Winkle, when he stepped out of the Frying-pan, 

walked gently and comfortably into the Fire 500 

XL. — Mr. Samuel Weller, being intrusted with a mission of Love, 
proceeds to execute it ; with what success will hereinafter 


appear 605 

XLI. — Introduces Mr. Pickwick to a new, and it is hoped not un- 
interesting scene, in the great Drama of Life 623 

XLII. — What befell Mr. Pickwick when he got into the Fleet; what 

Debtors he saw there ; and how he passed the Night 636 


XLIII. — Illujtrativc, like the preceding one, of the old Proverb, 

that Adversity brings a Man acquainted with stiange Bel- ' 
fellows. Likewise containing Mr. Pickwick’s e.xtraordi- 
nary and startling announcement to Mr. Samuel Weller... 650 

XLIV. — Showing how Mr. Samuel Weller got into difficulties 666 


CONTENTS. 


15 


OSAfTKA PA(HI 

ZLV. — Treats of divers little matters which occurred in the Fleet, 
and of Mr. Winkle’s mysterious Behavior ; and shows how 
tho poor Chancery Prisoner obtained his Release at last.... 681 

XLTI. — Descriptive of an affecting interview between Mr. Samuel 
Weller and a Family Party. Mr. Pickwick makes a Tour 
of the diminutive World he inhabits, and resolves to mix 
with it in future as little as /ossible C96 

XLVIL — Records a touching Act of delicate feeling, not unmixed with 
Pleasantry, achieved and performed by Messrs. Dodson and 
Fogg 714 

XLvm. — Is chiefly devoted to matters of business, and the temporal 
Advantage of Dodson and Fogg. — Mr. Winkle re-appears 
under extraordinary circumstances ; and Mr. Pickwick’s Be- 
nevolence proves stronger than his Obstinacy 725 

XLIX. — Relates how Mr. Pickwick, with the assistance of Samuel 
Wtdler, essayed to soften the heart of Mr. Benjamin Allen, 


and to mollify tho wrath of Mr. Robert Sawyer 738 

L. — Containing tho Story of tho Bagman’s Uncle 752 

LI. — How Mr. Pickwick sped upon his Mission, and how ho was re- 
inforced in the Outset by a most unexpected Auxiliary 771 


LII. — In which Mr. Pickwick encounters an old Acquaintance, to 
which fortunate circumstance tho Reader is mainly indebted 
for matter of thrilling interest herein set down, concerning 
two great Public Men of might and power 787 

LIII. — Involving a serious Change in the Weller family, and the un- 
timely downfall of the red-nosed Mr. Stiggins 803 


LrV. — Comprising the final exit of Mr. Jingle and Job Trotter; with 
a Great Morning of Business in Gray’s Inn Square. Con- 
cluding with a Double Knock at Mr. Perker’s door 818 


16 


•CONTENTS. 


CHAPTBX 

LV — Containing Some Particulars relative to the DouUe Knock, and 
other Matters, among which certain Interesting Disclosures 
relative to Mr. Snodgrass and a Young Lady are by no means 
irrelevant to this History.... 830 

^ LVI. — Mr, Solomon Poll, assisted by a Seleet Committee of Coachmen, 

• arranges the Affairs of the elder Mr. Weller 847 

LVH. — An Important Conference takes place between Mr. Pickwick and 
Samuel Weller, at which his Parent assists. An old Gentle- 
man in a snuff-colored Suit arrives unexpectedly 861 


LVIIL — In which the Pickwick Club is fiually dissolved, and every thing 

oonoludod to the satisfaction of every body 676 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS, 


PEOPLE’S EDITION. 


Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller in the Library... JVon^ispiecc. 
The Unexpected “Breaking-up'’ op the Seminary for 

Young Ladies. Vignette Title, 

Mr. Pickwick in Chase op his Hat Page 70 

The Fat Boy Awake on this Occasion Only 123 

Wardle and his Friends Under the Influence op “The 


Salmon” 125 

The Break-Down 143 


First Appearance op Mr. Samuel Weller'. 151 

Mrs. Bardell Faints in Mr. Pickwick’s Arms 183 

Mrs. Leo Hunter’s Fancy Dress Dejeune 235 

Job Trotter Encounters Sam in. Mr. Muzzle’s Kitchen... 394 

The Trial 527 

Mr. Bob Sawyer’s Mode op Travelling 774 


(H) 




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9 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE PICKmCKIANS. 

The first ray of lijrht which illumines the gloom, and converts 
into a dazzling brilliancy that obscurity in which the earlier 
history of the public career of the immortal Pickwick would 
appear to be involved, is derived from the i^erusal of the fol- 
lowing entry in the Transactions of the Pickwick Club, which 
the editor of these papers feels the highest pleasure in laying 
before his readers, as a proof of the careful attention, indefati- 
gable assiduity, and nice discrimination, with which his search 
among the multifarious documents confided to him has been 
conducted. 

“ May 12, 1827. Joseph Smiggers, Esq., P. V. P. M. P. C.,* 
presitling. The following resolutions unanimously agreed to. 

“That this Association has heard read, with feelings of un- 
mingled satisfaction, and unqualified approval, the paper com- 
municated Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G. C. M. P. C.,t entitled 
* Speculations on the Source of the Hampstead Ponds, with S(nne 
Observations on the Theory of Tittlebats;’ and that this Asso- 
ciation does hereby return its warmest thanks to the said 
Samuel Pickwick, Esq., 0. C. M. P. C., for the same. 

“That while this Association is deeply sensible of the advan- 
tages which must accrue to the cause of science, from the pro* 


♦ Perpetual Vice President — Member Pickwick Club.— -E d. 
f General Chairman — Member Pickwick Club. — £o. 

s (It) 


18 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


daction to which they have just adverted, no less than from the 
unwearied researches of Samuel Pickwick, Esej., G. C. M. P. C., 
in Hornsey, Ilighgate, Brixton, and Camberwell ; they cannot 
but entertain a lively sense of the inestimable benetits which 
mast inevitably result from carrying the speculations of that 
learned man into a wider field, from extending his travels, ani 
consequently enlarging his sphere of observation ; to the ad- 
vancement of knowledge, and the diffusion of learning. 

“That with the view, just mentioned, this Association bar 
taken into its serious consideration a j)ro})osal, emanating from 
the aforesaid Samuel Pickwick, Esq.. G. C. M. P. 0., and three 
other Pickwickians hereinafter named, for forming a new branch 
of United J*ickwickians under the title of The Corresponding 
Society of the Pickwick Club. 

“ That the said proposal has received the sanction and ap- 
proval of this Association. 

“ That the Corresimnding Society of the Pickwick Club is 
therefore hereby constituted ; and that Samuel JMckwick, Es(|., 
G. C. M. P. C., Tracy Tupman, Esq., M. P. C., Augustus 
Snodgrass, Esq., M. P. C., and Nathaniel Winkle, Esq., 
M. P. C., are hereby nominated and ap|)ointed members of the 
same : and that they be requested to forward, from time to 
time, authenticated accounts of their journeys and investiga- 
tions ; of their observations of character and manner.s ; and of 
the whole of their adventures, together with all tales and papers, 
to which local scenery or associations may give rise, to the 
Pickwick Club, stationed in London. 

“ That this Association cordially recognizes the princijde of 
every member of the Corresponding Society defraying his own 
traveling expenses ; and that it sees no objection whatever to 
the members of the said society pui*suing their inquiries for any 
length of time they please, upon the same terms. 

“ That the members of the aforesaid Corres])onding Society, 
be, and are hereby, informed, that their j)roposals to }*ay the 
postage of their letters, and the carriage of their parcels, has 
been deliberated upon, by this Association. That this Associa- 
tion considers such proposal worthy of the great minds from 
which it emanated; and that it hereby signifies its perfect 
acquiescence therein.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. lU 

A casual observer, adds the secretary, to whose iictes we are 
Indebted for the following account — a casual ob^rver might 
pos.-=ibly have remarked nothing extraordinary in the bald head, 
and circular s])cctacles, which were intently turned towards his 
(the secretary’s) fjrce during the reading of the above resolu- 
tions. To those who knew that the gigantic brain of IMekwick 
was working beneath that forehead, and that the beaming eyes 
of Pickwick were twinkling behind those glasses, the sight was 
indeed an interesting one. There sat the man who had traced 
to their source tlie mighty ponds of Hampstead, and agitated' 
the scieniific world with his Theory of Tittlebats, as calm and 
unmoved as the deep waters of tlie one on a frosty day, or as a 
solitary specimen of the other, in the inmost recesses of an earthen 
jar. Anil how much more interesting did the spectacle become, 
when, starting into full life and animation, as a simnltaneous 
call for “ Pickwick” burst from his followers, that illustrious 
man slowly mounted into the Windsor chair, on which he had 
been ])reviously seated, and addressed the club himself had 
founded 1 What a study for an artist did that exciting scene 
present I The eloquent Pickwick, with one hand gracefully 
concealed liehind his coat tails, and the other waving in air to 
assist his glowing declamation ; his elevated position revealing 
those tights and gaiters, which, had they clothed an ordinary 
man, might have passed without observation, but which, when 
Pickwick clothed them — if w^e may use the expression — inspired 
involuntary awe and respect ; surrounded by the men who had 
volunteered to share the perils of his travels, and who were 
destined to participate in the glories of his discoveriCvS. On his 
right hand sat Mr. Tracy Tu})man ; the too susceptible Tuprnan, 
who to the wisdom and experience of maturer years superadded 
the enthusiasm and ardor of a boy, in the most interesting and 
pardo!ial)le of human weaknesses — love. Time and feeding had 
exiianded that once romantic form ; ihe black silk waistcoat had 
become more and more developed ; inch by inch had the gold 
watch-cliain beneath it disa|)peared from within tlie range of 
Tupman’s vision; and gradually had the capacious chIu 
encroached upon the borders of the white cravat, but the soul 
of Tuprnan had known no change — admiration of the fair sex 
was still its ruling passion On the left of his great leader sat 


20 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


the poetic Snodgrass, and near him again the sporting Winkle, 
the former poetically enveloped in a mysterious blue cloak with 
a canine-skin collar, and the latter communicating additional 
lustre to a new green shooting coat, plaid neckerchief, and 
closely- fitted drabs. 

Mr. Pickwick’s oration upon this oct asion, together wMth the 
debate thereon, is entered on the Transactions of the Club. 
Both bear a strong affinity to the discussions of other celebrated 
bodies: and, as it is always interesting to trace a resemblance 
between the proceedings of great men, we transfer the entry 
to these pages. 

“Mr. Pickwick observed (says the Secretary) that fame was 
dear to the heart of every man. Poetic fame was dear to the 
heart of his friend Snodgrass, the fame of conquest was equally 
dear to his friend Tupman; and the desire of earning fame, 
in the sports of the field, the air, and the water, was uppermost 
in the breast of his friend Winkle. lie (Mr. Pickwick) would 
not deny that he was influenced by human passions, and human 
feelings, (cheers) — possibly by human weaknesses^ — (loud cries 
of “No”); but this he would say, that if ever the fire of self- 
importance broke out in his bosom, the desire to benefit the 
human race in preference, effectually quenched it. The praise 
of mankind was his swing; ])hiIanthropy w'as his insurance 
office. (Vehement cheering.) He had felt some pride — he ac- 
knowledged it freely; and let his enemies make the most of 
it — he had felt some pride when he presented his Tittlebatian 
Theory to the world ; it might be celebrated or it might not. 
(A cry of “It is,” and great cheering.) lie would take the 
assertion of that honorable Pickwickian whose voice he had 
j.ist heard — it was celebrated ; but if the fame of that treatise 
\iere to c.xtend to the farthest confines of the known world, the 
pride with whicli he should reflect on the authorship of that 
production, would be ns nothing compared with the pride with 
which he looked around him, on this, the proudest moment of 
his c.xistence. (Cheers.) He was an humble individual. (No, 
no.) Still he could not but feel that they had selected him for a 
service of great honor and of some danger. Traveling was in a 
troubled state, and the minds of coachmen were unsettled. Let 
them look abroad, and contemplate the scenes which were en- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


acting around them. Stage-coaches were upsetting in all direc- 
tions, horses were bolting, boats were overturning, and boilers 
were bursting. (Cheers — a voice, ‘ No.’) No I (Cheers) Let 
that honorable Pickwickian who cried ‘No’ so loudly, come for- 
ward and deny it, if lie could. (Cheers.) Who was it that 
cried ‘No?’ (Enthusiastic cheering.) Was it some vain and 
disappointed man — he would not say haberdasher — (loud 
cheers) — who, jealous of the praise which had been — perhaps 
undeservedly — bestowed on his (Mr. Pickwick’s) researches, 
and smarting under the censure which had been heaped upon 
his own feeble attempts at rivalry, now took this vile and 
calumnious mode of 

“ Mr. Blotton (of Aldgate,) rose to order. Did the honora- 
ble Pickwickian allude to him ? (Cries of ‘ Order,’ ‘ Chair,' 
‘ Yes,’ ‘No,’ ‘ Go on,’ ‘ Leave otf,’ &c.) 

“ Mr. Pickwick would not put up to be put down by clamor. 
He had alluded to the honorable gentleman. (Great excite- 
ment.) 

“ Mr. Blotton would only say then, that he repelled the hon. 
gent.’s false and scurrilous accusation with profound contempt. 
(Great cheering.) The hon. gent, was a hunbug. (Immense 
confusion, and loud cries of 'chair,’ and 'order.’) 

“ Mr. A. Snodgrass rose to order. Pie threw himself upon 
the chair. (Hear.) lie wished to know, whether this dis- 
graceful contest lietween two members of that club, should be 
allowed to continue. (Hear, hear.) 

“ The Chairman was quite sure the hon. Pickwickian would 
withdraw the expression he had just made use of. 

“ Mr. Blotton, with all possible respect for the chair, was 
quite sure he would not. 

“ The Chairman felt it his imperative duty to demand of the 
honorable gentleman, whether he had used the expression which 
had just escaped him, in a common sense. 

“ Mr. Blo'ITON had no hesitation in saying that he had not — 
he had used the word in its Pickwickian sense. (Hear, hear.) 
He was bound to acknowledge, that, personally, he entertained 
the highest regard and esteem for the honorable gentleman ; he 
had merely considered him a humbug in a Pickwickian point of 
view. (Hcar> hoar.) 


22 


-THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Mr. PrcKWiCK felt much gratified by the fair, candid and 
full explanation of his honorable friend. He begged it to be 
at once understood, that his own observations had been merely 
intended to bear a Pidcwickian construction. (Cheers.)” 

Here the entry terminates, as we have no doubt the debate 
did also, after arriving at such a highly satisfactory and intelli- 
gible point. We have no official statement of the facts, which 
the reader will find recorded in the next chapter, but they huve 
been carefully collated from letters 'and other MS. authorities, 
so unquestionably genuine, as to justify their naiTation in a 
connected form. 




CHAPTER II. 


THE FmST day’s JOURNEY, AND THE FIRST EVENINO’h ADVEN- 
TURES; WITH THEIR CONSEQUENCES. 

That punctual servant of all work, the sun, had just risen, 
and begun to strike a light on the morning of the thirteenth of 
May, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-seven, when Mr. 
Samuel Pickwick burst like anotlier sun from his slumbers; 
tlirew open his chamber window, and looked out upon the world 
beneath. Goswell-street was at his feet, Goswell-street was on 
his right hand — as far as the eye could reach, Goswell-street 
extended on his left ; and the opposite side of Goswell-street 
was over the way. “Such,” thought Mr. Pickwick, “are the 
narrow views of J;hose philosophers who, content with examining 
the things that lie before them, look not to the truths which are 
hidden beyond. As well might I be content to gaze on Gos- 
well-strcet forever, without one effort to penetrate to the hid- 
den countries which on every side surround it.” And having 
given vent to this beautiful reflection, Mr. Pickwick proceeded 
to })ut himself into his clothes ; and his clothes into his portman- 
teau. Great men are seldom over-scrupulous in the aiTange- 
ment of their attire ; the operation of shaving, dressing, and 
cotlee-imbibing was soon j)erformed ; and in another hour, Mr. 
Pickwick, with his portmanteau in his hand, his telescope in his 
great-coat i)Ocket, and his note-book in his waistcoat, ready for 
the reception of any discoveries worthy of being noted down, 
had arrived at the coach-stand in Saint Martin’s-le-Grand. 

“ Cab !” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Here you are, Sir,” shouted a strange specimen of the 
human race, in a sackcloth coat, and apron of the same, who 
with a brass label and number round his neck looked as if he 
were catalogued in some collection of rarities. This was the 
waterman. “ Here yon are, Sir. Now, then, fust cab I” And 
the first cab having beeu fetched -from the public bouse where 


24 


THE PICKWICK PAPEES. 


he had been smoking his first pipe, Mr. Pickwick and his port- 
mantcau were thrown into the vehicle. 

“Golden Cross,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Only a bob’s vorth. Tommy,” — cried the driver, sulkily, for 
the information of his friend the waterman, as the cab drove 
off. 

“ ITow old is that horse, my friend ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, 
rubbing his nose with the shilling he had reserved for the fare 

“ f'orty-two,” replied the driver, eyeing him askant. 

“ What I” ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, laying his hand upon his 
note-book. The driver reiterated his former statement. Mr. 
Pickwick looked very hard at the man’s face, but his features 
were immovable, so he noted down the fact forthwith. 

“And how long do you keep him out at a time ?” inquired 
Mr. Pickwick, searching for further information. 

“ Two or three veeks,” replied the man. 

“ Weeks I” said Mr. Pickwick in astonishment — and out 
came the note-book again. 

“lie lives at Pentonwil when he’s at home,” observed the 
driver, coolly, “but we seldom takes him home, on account of 
his veakness.” 

“ On account of his weakness j” reiterated the perplexed Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“ lie always falls down, when he’s took out o’ the cab,” con- 
tinued the driver, “ but when he’s in it, we bears him up werry 
tight, and takes him in werry short, so as he can’t werry well 
fall down, and we’ve got a pair o’ precious large wheels on ; so 
ven he doea move, they run after him, and he must go on — he 
can’t help it.” 

Mr. Pickwick entered every word of this statement in his 
liote-book, with the view of communicating it to the club as a 
singular instance of the tenacity of life in horses, under trying 
circumstances. The entry was scarcely completed when they 
reached the Golden Cross. Down jumped the driver, and out 
gnt Mr. JMckwick. Mr. Tupman, Mr. Siiodgrass, and Mr. 
Winkle, who had been anxiously waiting the arrival of their 
illustrious leader, crowded to welcome him. 

“ Here’s your fare,” said Mr. Pickwick, holding 0 it tlio shil- 

ling to tho driver. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


26 


What was the learned man’s astonishment, when that nnac- 
countable person flung the money on the pavement, and re- 
quested in figurative terms to be allowed the pleasure o! fight- 
ing him (Mr. Pickwick) for the amount 1 

“You are mad I” said Mr. Snodgrass. 

“ Or drunk,” said Mr. Winkle. 

“ Or both,” said Mr. Tupman. 

“ Come on,” said the cab-driver, sparring away like clock- 
work. “ Come on — all four on you.” 

“ Here’s a lark I” shouted half a dozen hackney coachmen. 
“ Go to vork, Sam,” — and they crowded with great glee round 
the party. 

“ What’s the row, Sam ?” inquired one gentleman in black 
calico sleeves. 

“ Row I” replied the cabman, “ What did he want my num- 
ber for ?” 

“I didn’t want your number,” said the astonished Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

“ What did you take it for, then ?” inquired the cabman. 

“ I didn’t take it,” said Mr. Pickwick, indignantly. 

“Would any body believe,” continued the cab-driver, appeal- 
ing to the crowd, — “Would any body believe as an informer 
’ud go about in a man’s cab, not only takin’ down his number, 
but ev’ry word he says into the bargain ?” (a light flashed upon 
Mr. Piekv/ick — it was the note-book.) 

“ Did he though ?” inquired another cabman. 

“Yes, did he,” replied the first — “and then arter aggerwatin’ 
me to assault him, gets three witnesses here to prove it. But 
i’ll give it him, if I’ve six months for it. Come on,” and the 
cabman dashed his hat upon the ground, with a reckless disre- 
gard of his own private property, and knocked Mr. Pickwick’s 
spectacles off, and followed up the attack with a blow on Mr. 
Pickwick’s nose, and another on Mr. Pickwick’s chest, and 
a third in Mr. Snodgrass’s eye, and a fourth, by way of 
variety, in Mr. Tupman’s waistcoat, and then danced into the 
road, and then back again to the pavement, ind finally dashed 
the whole temporary supply of breath out >f Mr. Wiukle’a 
body ; and all in half a dozen seconds. 

'‘Whtnrti’s au officer?*’ ^aid Mr. ^lodgrass. 


26 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


'‘Put ^em under the pump,” suggested a hot-pieman. 

“You sliall smart for this,” gasped Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Informers,” shouted the crowd. 

“Come on,” cried the cabman, who had been sparring with- 
out cessation the whole time. 

The mob had hitlierto been passive spectators of the scene, 
but as the intelligence of the Pickwickians being informers was 
B]»read among them, they began to canvass with considerable 
vivacity the propriety of enforcing the heated pastry-vender’s 
proposition; and there is no saying what acts of i)ersonal 
aggression they might have committed, had not the atfray been 
unexpectedly terminated by the interposition of a new-comer. 

“ Wliat’s the fun ?” said a rather tall, thin young man in a 
green coat, emerging suddenly from the coach-yard. 

“ Informers I” shouted the crowd again. 

“ We are not,” roared Mr. Pickwick, in a tone which, to any 
dispassionate listener, carried convic'tion with it. 

“Ain’t you, though, — ain’t you?” said the young man, ap- 
pealing to Mr. Pickwick, and making his way through the 
crowd, by the infallible process of elbowing the countenances 
of its component members. 

That learned man in a few hurried words explained the real 
state of the case. 

“ Come along, then,” said he of the green coat, lugging Mr. 
Pickwick after him by main force, and talking the whole way. 
“ Here, No. 924, take your fare and take yourself off — respect- 
able gentleman — know him well — none of your nonsense — this 
way. Sir — where’s your friends? — all a mistake,-! see — never 
mind — accidents will happen — best regulated families — never 
say die — down upon your luck — pull him up — put that in his 
pipe — like the flavor — damned rascals.” And with a length- 
ened string of similar broken sentences, delivered with extra- 
ord.nary volubility, the stranger led the way to the travelers’ 
waiting room, whither he was closely followed by Mr. Pickwick 
and his disciples. 

“ Here, waiter,” shouted the stranger, ringing the bell with 
tremendous violence, “glasses round, — brandy and water, hot 
und strong, and sweet and plenty, — eye damaged. Sir ? 
Waitbr, raw Imef-steak fornhe gcntleraau’s^ eye, —nothing Uk« 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


27 


raw beef-steak for a bruise, Sir; cold lamp-post rery good, but 
lamp-post inconvenient — damned odd standing in the open 
street half an hour, with your eye against a lamp-post — eh ? — 
very good — ha I ha I” And the stranger, without stopping to 
take breath, swallowed at a draught full half a pint of the 
reeking brandy and water, and flung himself into a chair with as 
much ease as if nothing uncommon had occurred. 

'While his three comymnions were busily engaged in proffer- 
ing their thanks to their new acquaintance, Mr. Pickwick had 
leisure to examine his costume and appearance. 

He was about the middle height, but the thinness of his 
body, and the length of his legs, gave him the appearance of 
being much taller. The green coat had been a smart dress 
garment in the days of swallow-tails, but had evidently in 
those times adorned a much shorter man than the stranger, for 
the soiled and faded sleeves scarcely reached to his wrists. It 
was buttoned closely up to his chin, at the imminent hazard of 
splitting the back; and an old stock, without a vestige of 
shirt-collar, oi*namented his neck. His scanty black trowsers 
displayed here and there those .shiny patches which bespeak 
long service, and were strapped very tightly over a pair of 
])atched and mended shoes, as if to conceal the dirty white 
stockings, which were nevertheless distinctly visible. His long 
black hair escaped in negligent waves from beneath each side 
of his old pinched-up hat; and glimpses of his bare wrist 
might be observed between the tops of his gloves and the cnlfs 
of his coat sleeves. His face was thin and hagfrard; but an 
indescribable air of jaunty impudence and perfect self-possession 
pervaded the whole man. 

Such was the individual on whom Mr. Pickwick gazed through 
his si)ectaclcs, (which he had fortunately recovered,) and to 
whom he proceeded, when his friends had exhausted themselves, 
to return, in chosen terms, his warmest thanks for his recent 
assist a Jice. 

“ Never mind,*’ said the stranger, cutting the address very 
short; “said enough, — no more; smart chap that cabman — 
bandied his fives well ; but if I’d been your friend in the 
green jemmy — damn me— punch his head,— ’cod I would, 
pig’s whlspbr— pieman too^— no j^aminoa.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


This coherent speech was interrupted by the entrance of the 
Rochester coachman, to aimourice tliat “ The Commodore’^ was 
oil the point of starting. 

“ Commodore I” said the stranger, starting up, my coach, — 
place booked, — one outside — leave you to pay for the brandy 
and water, — want change for a five, — bad silver, — Brummagem 
buttons — won’t do — no go — eh ?” aud he shook his head most 
knowingly. 

Now it so happened that Mr. Pickwick and his three com- 
])anions had resolved to make Rochester their first halting 
place too ; and having intimated to their new-found acipiaint- 
aiice that they were journeying to the same city, they agreed to 
occupy the seat at the back of the coach, where they could all 
sit together. 

“Up with you,” said the stranger, assisting Mr. Pickwick on 
to the roof with so much preci})itation, as to impair the gravity 
of that gentleman’s deportment very materially. 

“Any luggage. Sir?” iiupiired the coachman. 

“ Who — I ? Brown paper parcel here, that’s all, other lug- 
gage gone by water, — packing-cases, nailed up — big as houses 
— heavy, heavy, damned heavy,” replied the stranger, as he 
forced into his pocket as much as he could of the brown paper 
parcel, which presented most suspicious indications of con- 
taining one shirt and a handkerchief. 

“ Heads, heads, take care of your heads,” cried the loquacious 
stranger, as they came out under the low archway, which in 
those days formed the entrance to the coach-yard. “ Terrilile 
place — dangerous work — other day — five children — mother — 
tall lady, eating sandwiches — forgot the arch — crash — knock — 
children look round — mother’s head off — sandwich in her hand 
— no month to |)nt it in — head of a family off — shocking, shock- 
ing. Looking at Whitehall, Sir, — fine place — little window — 
s*>niebo<ly else’s head off there, eh, Sir ? — he didn’t keep a 
shar]) look-ont enough either — eh, Sir, eh ?” 

“I was ruminating,” said Mr. Pickwick, “on the strange 
mutability of human affairs.” 

*“ Ah ! I see — in at the palace door one day, out at tne wiu* 
dow the next. Philosopher, Sir ?” 

"An oteevvof of human nature, Sir ” «uid Mr. Piekwtek. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


29 


“ Ah, so am I. Most people are when they Ve little to do 
and less to get. Poet, Sir ?” 

“ My friend Mr. Snodgrass ha^ a strong poetic turn,” said 
Mr. IMckwick. 

So have I,” said the stranger. “Epic poem, — ten thousand 
lines — revolution of July — composed it on the spot — Mars by 
day Apollo by night, — bang the field-piece, twang the lyre.” 

' Vou were preiient at that glorious scene, Sir ?” said Mr. 
Snodgrass. 

“ Present I think I was ; fired a musket, — fired with an idea, 

■ — rushed into a wine shop — wrote it down — back again — whiz, 
bang — another idea — wine shop again — pen and ink — back 
again — cut and slash — noble time. Sir. Sportsman, Sir ?” ab- 
ruptly turning to Mr. Winkle. 

“A little. Sir,” replied that gentleman. 

“ Fine pursuit. Sir, — fine pursuit. — Dogs, Sir ?” 

“Not just now,” said Mr. Winkle. 

“ A h 1 you should keep dogs — fine animals — sagacious crea- 
tures — dog of my own once — Pointer — surprising instin ;t — out 
shooting one day — entering inclosure — whistled — (log stopped 
—whistled again — Ponto — no go : stock still — called him — 
l*onto, Ponto — wouldn’t mofc- — dog dfansfixed — staring at a 
board — looked up, saw an inscription — ‘ Gamekeeper has orders 
to shoot all dogs found in this inclosurc’ — wouldn’t pass it — 
wonderful «log — valuable dog that — very.” 

“Singular circumstance that,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Will 
you allow me to make a note of it ?”* 

“ Certainly, Sir, certainly — hundred more anecdotes of the 
same animal.— Fine girl. Sir,” (to Mr. Tracy Tupman, who 
hail been bestowing sundry antUJJickwickian glances on a young 
lady by the road -side.) a 

“V'eryl” said Mr. Tupman. 

“ English girls not so fine as Spanish — noble creatures— jet 
hair — black eyes — lovely forms— ;swcet creatures — beautiful.” 

• Although we find this clrcumstnnce recorded as a << singular” one, in Mr. 
Pickwick's iu»te-hii<»k, we cannot refrain from huujhly e.xi»res.sing our dissent 
from ihul learned authority. The stranger’s anecdote is not o le quarter so 
wonderful as some of Mr. Jesse's “ Gleanings.” Ponto sinks into utter insig- 
Bifiea&ce before the dogs whose actions he records.— E d# 


80 


THE riCKWICK PAPERS. 


“You have been in Spain, Sir?” said Mr. Tracj Tup 
man. 

“Lived there — ages.” 

“ Many conquests, Sir ?” inquired Mr. Tupman. 

“Conquests I Thousands. Don liolaro P'izzgig — Grajidec — 
only daughter — Donna Christina — splendid creature — lov(d 
me to distraction — jealous father — high-souled daughter— hand 
some Phiglishnian — Donna Christina in despair — prussic acid 
— stomach pump in my portmanteau — operation performed— 
old Jiolaro in ecstasies — consent to our union — join hands and 
floods of tears — romantic story — very.” 

“ Is the lady in Phigland now, Sir ?” inquired Mr. Tupman, 
on whom the description of her charms had produced a power- 
ful impression. 

“ Dead, Sir — dead,” said the stranger, applying to his right 
eye the brief remnant of a very old cambric handkerchief. 
“ Never recovered the stomach pump — undermined constitution 
— feU a victim.” 

“And her father?” inquired the poetic Snodgra.ss. 

“ llemorse and mi.sery,” replied the stranger. “ Sudden di.s- 
appearance — talk of the whole city — search made everywhere 
— without success — public fountain in the great square suddenly 
ceased playing — weeks elapsed — still a stopi)age — workmen 
employed to clean it — water drawn off — father-in-law discovered 
sticking head first in the main pipe, with a full confession in his 
right boot — took him out and the fountain played away again, 
as well as ever.” 

“ Will you allow me to note that little romance down. Sir?” 
said Mr. Snodgrass, deeply alTected. 

“ Certainly, Sir, certainly, — fifty more if you like to hear ’em 
—strange life mine — rather curious history — not extraordinary, 
but singular.” 

In this strain, with an occasional glass of ale, by way of pa- 
renthesis, whei. the coach clianged horses, did the .stratiger [)ro- 
ceed, until they reached Iloehesler bridge, I)y which time the 
note-books, both of .Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Snodgrass, were 
completely filled with selections from his adventuures. 

“ Maguificent ruin I” said Mr. Augustus Snodgrass, with ali 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


HI 

the poetic fervor that distinguished him, when they came in 
siglit of the fine old castle. 

“Wliat a study for an antiquarian!’^ were the very word' 
which fell from Mr. Pickwick’s mouth, as he applied his tele 
■icope to his eye. 

“Ah! fine place,” said the stranger, “glorious pile — frowning 
wnlls — tottering arches — dark nooks — crumbling staircases. — 
01 1 cathedral too — earthy smell — pilgrim’s feet worn away the 
old steps — little Saxon doors — confessionals like money-takers’ 
boxc‘s at theatres — queer customers those monks — Popes and 
liOrd Treasurers, and all sorts of old fellows, with great red 
faces, and lire ken noses, turning up every day — buff jerkins too 
— matchlocks — Sarcophagus — fine place — old legends, too — 
strange stories : capital and the stranger continued to solilo- 
quize until they reached the Bull Inn, in the High street, where 
the coach stopped. 

“Do you remain here. Sir?” inquired Mr. Nathaniel Winkle. 

“ Here — not I — but you’d better — good house — nice beds — 
Wright’s next house, dear — very dear — half-a-crown in the bill, 
if you look at the waiter — charge you more if you dine at a 
friend’s than they would if you dine in the coffee-room — rum 
fellows — very.” 

Mr. Wirikle turned to Mr. Pickwick, and murmured a few 
words ; a whisper [)assed from Mr. Pickwick to Mr. Snodgrass, 
from Mr. Snodgrass to Mr. Tupman, and nod^of assent were 
exchanged. Mr. Pickwick addressed the stranger. 

“ Voti rendered us a very important service this morning. 
Sir,” said he; “ will you allow us to offer a slight mark of our 
gratitude by begging the favor of your company at dinner?” 

“Great pleasure — not presume to dictate, but broiled fowl 
and mushrooms — capital thing I What time ?” 

“ Let me see,” replied Mr. Pickwick, referring to his watch, 
« it is now nearly three. Shall we say five ?” 

“Suit me excellently,” said the stranger, “five precisely — till 
then — care of yourselves and lifting the ])inched-up hat a few 
Inches from his head, and carelessly rei)laeing it very much on 
one side, the stranger, with half the brown paper parcel sticking 
out of his pocket, walked briskly up the yard, and tunieff into the 
high street 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


as 


Evidently a traveler in many countries, and a close ob- 
server of men and things,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ I should like to see his poem,” said Mr. Snodgrass. 

“ I should like to have seen that dog,” said Mr. Winkle. 

Mr. Tupman said nothing ; but he thought of Donna Chris- 
tina, the stomach pump, and the fountain ; and his eyes filled 
with tears. 

A private sitting-room having been engaged, bed-rooms in- 
spected, and dinner ordered, the party walked out to view the 
city, and adjoining neighborhood. 

We do not find, from a careful perusal of Mr. Pickwick’s 
notes on the four towns, Stroud, Rochester, Chatham, and 
Brompton, that his impressions of their appearance differ in any 
material point, from those of other travelers who have gone 
over the same ground. His general description is easily 
abridged. 

“ The principal productions of these towns,” says Mr. Pick- 
wick, “appear to be soldiers, sailors, Jews, chalk, shrimps, offi- 
cers, and dock-yard men. The commodities chiefly exposed for 
sale in the public streets, are marine stores, hard-bake, apples, 
flat-fish, and oysters. The streets present a lively and animated 
appearance, occasioned chiefly by the conviviality of the mili- 
tary. It is truly delightful to a philanthropic mind, to see these 
gallant men, staggering along under the influence of an over- 
flow', both of animal, and ardent spirits ; more especially when 
we remember that the following them about, and jesting with 
them, affords a cheap and innocent amusement for the boy popu- 
lation. Nothing (adds Mr. Pickwick) can exceed their good 
humor. It w’as but the day before my arrival, that one of 
them had been most grossly insulted in the house of a publican. 
The bar-maid had positively refused to draw him any more 
liquor; in return for which, he had (merely in playfulness) 
drawn his bayonet, and w'ounded the girl in the shoulder. And 
yet this fine fellow w'as the very first to go down to the house 
next morning, and e.xpress his readiness to overlook the matter, 
ar.d forget w'hat had occurred 1 

“ Tlje consumption of tobacco in these towns (continues Mr. 
PickwicK) must be very great : and the smell which pervades 
the streets must be exceedingly delicious to those who are ex* 


THE riCKWICR PAPERS. 


88 


tremely fond of smoking. A superficial traveler might ob- 
ject to the dirt which is their leading characteristic, but to 
those who view it as an indication of traffic, and commercial 
prosperity, it is truly gratifying.’’ 

Ihinctual to five o’clock, came the stranger, and shortly after 
wards the dinner. He had divested himSelf of his brown paper 
parcel, but had made no alteration in his attire ; and was, if 
possible, more loquacious than ever. 

“What's that?” he inquired, as the waiter removed one of 
tlie covei’vS. 

“ Soles, Sir.” 

“Soles — ah! — capital fish — all come from London — stage- 
coach proprietors get up political dinners — carriage of soles— ^ 
dozens of baskets — cunning fellows. Glass of wine, Sir?” 

“ With pleasure,” said Mr. Pickwick — and the stranger took 
wnne; first with him and then with Mr. Snodgrass, anc* then 
with Mr. Tupman, and then with Mr. Winkle, and then with 
the whole party together, almost as rapidly as he talked. 

“Devil of a mess on the staircase, waiter,” said the stranger 
“Forms going up — carpenters coming down — lamps, glasses, 
har|!)s. What’s going forward?” 

“Ball, Sir,” said the waiter. 

“ Assembly — eh ?” 

“No, Sir, not Assembly, Sir. Ball for the benefit of a charity, 
Sir.” 

“Many fine women in this town, do you know. Sir?” inquired 
Mr. Tupman, with great interest. 

“ Splendid — capital. Kent, Sir — Every body knows Kent — 
apples, cherries, hops, and women. Glass of wine. Sir?” 

“With great pleasure,” replied Mr. Tupman. The stranger 
filled, and emptied. 

“J should very much like to go,” said Mr. Tupman, resuming 
tnc subject of the ball, “very much.” 

’ Tickets at the bar. Sir,” interposed the waiter, “ half a-guinea 
each. Sir.” 

Mr. Tupman again expressed an earnest wish to be present 
at the festivity ; but meeting with no response in the darkened 
eye of Mr. Snodgrass, or the abstracted gaze of Mr. Piekwick, 
he applied himself with great interest to the port wine and 
3 


S4 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


dessert which had just been placed on the table. The waiter 
withdrew, and the party were left to enjoy the cosy couple of 
hours succeeding dinner. 

“Beg your pardon, Sir,” said the stranger, “bottle stands — 
pass it round — way of the sun — ^through the button-hole — no 
heeltaps,” and he emptied his glass, which he had filled about 
Ino minutes before; and poured out another, with the air of a 
man who was used to it. 

'riie wine was passed, and a fresh supply ordered. The 
visiter talked, the Pickwickians listened. Mr. Tupman felt 
every moment more disposed for the ball. Mr. Pickwick’s 
countenance glowed with an expression of universal philan- 
thropy; and Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass fell fast asleep. 

“They’re beginning up stairs,” said the stranger; — “hear the 
company — fiddles tuning — now the harp — there they go.” The 
various sounds which found their way down stairs, announced 
the commencement of the first quadrille. 

“How I should like to go I” said Mr. Tupman, again. 

“ So should I,” said the stranger, — “ confounded luggage- 
heavy smacks — nothing to go in — odd, ain’t it ?” 

Now, general benevolence was one of the leading features of 
the Pickwickian theory, and no one was more remarkable for 
the zealous manner in which he observed so noble a principle, 
than Mr. Tracy Tupman. The number of instances, recorded 
on the transactions of the Society, in which that excellent man 
referred objects of charity to the houses of other members for 
left olf garments, or pecuniary relief, is almost incredible. 

“ I should be very happy to lend you a change of apparel for 
the purpose,” said Mr. Tracy Tupman, “but you are rather 
slim, and I am — ” 

“ Rather fat — grown up Bacchus — cut the leaves — dismounted 
from the tub, and adopted kersey, eh ? — not double distilled, 
but double milled — ha I ha! — pass the wine.” 

AVhelher Mr. Tupman was somewhat indignant at the pei- 
emi)tory tone in which he was desired to pass the wine which 
the stranger passed so quickly away ; or whether he felt very 
properly scandalized, at an influential member of the Pickwick 
club being ignoiniuiously compared to a dismounted Bacchus, is 
h (act not yet completely ascertained. He passed the wine. 


THE riCKWICK PAPERS. 


S5 


coughed twice, and looked at the stranger for several seconds 
with a stern intensity ; as that individual, however, appeared 
perfectly collected, and quite calm under bis searching glance, 
he gradually relaxed, and reverted to the subject of the ball. 

“ I was about to observe, Sir,” he said, “ that though my 
apparel would be too large, a suit of my friend Mr. Winkle’s, 
would, perhaps, lit you better.” 

The stranger took Mr. Winkle’s measure with his eye ; 
and that feature glistened with satisfaction as he said — “Just 
the thing !” 

Mr. Tupman looked round him. The wine which had exerted 
its somniferous influence over Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle, 
had stolen upon the senses of Mr. Pickwick. That gentleman 
had gradually passed through the various stages which precede 
the lethargy produced by dinner, and its consequences. lie 
had undergone the ordinary transitions from the height of con- 
viviality, to the depth of misery, and from the depth of misery 
to the height of conviviality. Like a gas-lamp in the street, 
with the wdnd in the pipe, he had exhibited for a moment an 
unnatural brilliancy: then sunk so low as to be scarcely dis- 
cernible : after a short interval, he had burst out again, to 
enlighten for a moment, then flickered with an uncertain, stag- 
gering sort of light, and then gone out altogether. His head 
was sunk upon his bosom ; and perpetual snoring, with a partial 
choke occasionally, were the only audible indications of the 
great man’s presence. 

The temptation to be present at the ball, and to form his first 
impressions of the beauty of the Kentish ladies, was strong upon 
Mr. Tupman. The temptation to take the stranger with him, 
was equally great. lie was wholly unacquainted with the 
place and its inhabitants; and the stranger seemed to possess 
as great a knowdedge of both, as if he had lived there from his 
infancy. ]Mr. Winkle was asleep, and Mr. Tupman had had 
sufficient experience in such matters to know, that the moment 
he awoke, he would, in the ordinary course of nature, roll 
heavily to bed. He was undecided. “ Fill your glass, and 
pass the wine,” said the indefatigable visiter. 

Mr. Tupman did as he was requested ; and the additional 
stimulus of the last glass settled this determination. 


66 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“Winkle’s bed-room is inside mine,” said Mr. Tnpman ; “I 
couldn’t make him understand what I wanted, if I woke him 
now, blit I know he has a dress suit in a carpet-bag ; and sup- 
posing you wore it to the ball, and took it off when wc re- 
turned, I could replace it without troubling him at all about the 
matter.” 

“Capital,” said the stranger, “famous plan — damned odd 
situation — fourteen coats in the packing-cases, and obliged to 
wear another man’s — very good notion, that — very.” 

“ We must purchase our tickets,” said Mr. Tupman. 

“Not worth while splitting a guinea,” said the stranger, 
“ toss who shall pay for both — I call ; you spin — first time — 
woman — woman — bewitching woman,” and down came the 
sovereign, with the Dragon (called by courtesy a woman) up- 
permost. 

Mr. Tupman rang the bell, purchased the tickets, and ordered 
chamber-candlesticks. In another quarter of an hour, the 
stranger was completely arrayed in a full suit of Mr. Nathaniel 
Winkle’s. 

“It’s a new coat,” said Mr. Tupman, as the stranger sur- 
veyed himself with great complacency in a cheval glass. “ The 
first that’s been made with our club button,” — and he called his 
companion’s attention to the largo gilt button which displayed 
a bust of Mr. Pickwick in the centre, and the letters “P. C.” 
on either side. 

“ P. C.,” said the stranger. — “ Queer set out — old fellow’s 
likeness, and‘P. C.’ — what docs P. C. stand for — Peculiar 
Coat, eh ?” Mr. Tupman, with rising indignation, and great 
importance, explained the mystic device. 

“ Rather short in the waist, ain’t it ?” said the stranger, screw- 
ing himself round, to catch a glimpse in the glass of the waist- 
nuttons, which were half-way up his back. “ Like a general 
postman’s coat — queer coats those — made by contract — no 
measuring — mysterious dispensations of Providence — all the 
short men get long coats — all the long men short ones.” 
Running on in this way, Mr. Tupman’s new companion ad- 
/isted his dress, or rather the dress of IMr. Winkle ; and, ac- 
companied by Mr. Tupman, ascended the staircase leading to 
the ball-room. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


87 


“ What names, Sir said the man at the door. Mr. Tracy 
Tupman was stepping forward to announce his own titles, when 
the stranger prevented him. 

“No names at all,” — and then he whispered Mr. Tupman 

Names won’t do — ^not known — very good names in their way, 
but not great ones — capital names for a small party, but won’t 
make an impression in public assemblies — incog, the thing — 
Gentlemen from London — distinguished foreigners — anytliing.” 
The door was thrown open ; and Mr. Tracy Tupman and the 
stranger entered the ball-room. 

It was a long room, with crimson -covered benches, and wax 
candles in glass chandeliers. The musicians were securely con- 
fined in an elevated den, and quadrilles were being systemati- 
cally got through by two or three sets of dancers. Two card- 
tables were made up in the adjoining card-room, and two pair 
of old ladies, and a corresponding number of stout gentlemen, 
were executing whist therein. 

The finale concluded, the dancers promenaded the room, and 
Mr. Tupman and his companion stationed themselves in a 
corner, to observe the company. 

“ Charming women,” said Mr. Tupman. 

“ Wait a minute,” said the stranger, “fun presently — nobs not 
come yet — queer place — Dock-yard people of upper rank don’t 
know Dock-yard people of lower rank — Dock-yard people of 
lower rank don’t know small gentry — small gentry don’t know 
trades-people — Commissioner don’t know anybody. 

“ Who’s that little boy with the light hair and pink eyes, in 
a fancy dress ?” inquired Mr, Tupman. 

“ Hush, pray — pink eyes — fancy dress — little boy — nonsense 
i — ^Ensign 97th. — Honourable Wilmot Snipe — great family— 
Snipes — very.” 

“ Sir Thomas Clubber, Lady Clubber, and the Miss Club 
bers I” shouted the man at the door in a stentorian voice. A 
great sensation was created throughout the room, by the entrance 
of a tall gentleman in a blue coat and bright buttons, a large 
lady in blue satin, and two young ladies on a similar scale, in 
fashionably-made dresses of the same hue. 

“Commissioner — head of the yard — great man, remarkably 
great man,” whispered the stranger in Mr. Tupman’s ear, as 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


the charitaMe committee ushered Sir Thomas Clubber and 
family to the top of the room. The Honorable Wilmot Snipe, 
and other distinguished gentlemen, crowded to render homage 
to the Miss Clubbers ; and Sir Thomas Clubber stood bolt up- 
right, and looked majestically over his black neckerchief at the 
assembled company. 

“Mr. Smithie, Mrs. Smithie, and the Misses Smithie,’’ was 
the next announcement. 

“ What’s Mr. Smithie ?” inquired Mr. Tracy Tupman. 

“ Something in the yard,” replied the stranger. Mr. Smithie 
bowed deferentially to Sir Thomas Clubber ; and Sir Thomas 
Clubber acknowledged the salute with conscious condescension. 
Lady Clubber took a telescope view of Mrs. Smithie and family, 
through her eye-glass, and Mrs. Smithie stared, in her turn, on Mrs. 
Somebody else, whose husband was not in the dock-yard at all. 

“ Colonel Bulder, Mrs. Colonel Bulder, and Miss Bulder,” 
were the next arrivals. 

“Head of the garrison,” said the stranger, in reply to Mr. 
Tupman’s inquiring look. 

Miss Bulder was warmly welcomed by the Miss Clubbers ; 
the greeting between Mrs. Colonel Bulder and Lady Clubber, 
was of the most affectionate description ; Colonel Bulder and 
Sir Thomas Clubber exchanged snuff-boxes, and looked very 
much like a pair of Alexander Selkirks ; — “ Monarchs of all 
they surveyed.” 

While the aristocracy of the place — the B aiders, and Club- 
bers, and Snipes — were thus preserving their dignity at the 
upper end of the room, the other classes of society were imitating 
their example in other parts of it. The less aristocratic officers 
of the 97th devoted themselves to the families of the less im- 
portant functionaries from the dock-yard. The solicitors’ wives 
and the wine-merchant’s wife, headed another grade, (the brew 
er’s wife visited the Bidders ;) and Mrs. Tomlinson, the post- 
office keeper, seemed by mutual consent to have been chosen 
the leader of the trade party. 

One of the most popular personages, in his own circle, pre- 
sent, was a little fat man, with a ring of upright black hair 
round his head, and an extensive bald plain on the top of it — 
Doctor Slammer, surgeon to the 97th. The doctor took snuff 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


<7ith every body, chatted with every body, laup^hed, danced, 
made jokes, played whist, did everything and was everywhere. 
To these pursuits, multifarious as they were, the little doctor 
added a more important one than any — he was indefatigable in 
paying the most unremitting and devoted attention to a little 
old widow, whose rich dress and profusion of ornaments bespoke 
her a most desirable addition to a limited income. 

Upon the doctor, and the widow, the eyes both of Mr. Tup- 
man and his companion had been fixed for some time, when the 
stranger broke silence. 

“ Lots of money — old girl — pompous doctor — not a bad idea 
—good fun,’^ were the intelligible sentences which issued from 
his lips. Mr. Tupman looked inquisitively in his face. 

“Idl dance with the widow, said the stranger. 

“Who is she?’^ inquired Mr. Tupman. 

“Don’t know — ^never saw her in all my life — cut out the doc- 
tor — here goes.” And the stranger forthwith crossed the room ; 
and, leaning against a mantel-piece, commenced gazing with an 
air of respectful and melancholy admiration on the fat counte- 
nance of the little old lady. Mr. Tupman looked on in mute 
astonishment. The stranger progressed rapidly ; the little doc- 
tor danced with another lady — the widow dropped her fan ; the 
stranger picked it up, and presented it, — a smile — a bow — a 
curtsy — a few words of conversation. The stranger walked 
boldly up to, and returned with, the master of the ceremonies ; a 
little introductory pantomime ; and the stranger and Mrs. Bud- 
ger took their places in a quadrille. 

The surprise of Mr. Tupman at this summary proceeding, 
great as it was, was immeasurably exceeded by the astonish- 
ment of the doctor. The stranger was young, and the widow 
was flattered. The doctor’s attentions were unheeded by the 
widow; and the doctor’s indignation was wholly lost on his im- 
perturbable rival. Doctor Slammer was paralyzed. lie, I)oc- 
tor Slammer of the 97th, to be extinguished in a moment by • 
man whom nobody had ever seen before, and whom nobody know 
even now! Doctor Slammer — Doctor Slammer of the 97th 
rejected! Impossible. It could not be! Yes, it was; there 
they were. What! introducing his friend! Could he believe 
his eyes ! He looked again, and was under the painful necessity 


40 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


of admitting the veracity of his optics; Mrs. Badger was danc- 
ing with Mr. Tracy Tupman; there was no mistaking the fact. 
There was the widow before him, bouncing bodily, here and 
there, with unwonted vigor; and Mr. Tracy Tupman hopping 
about, with a face expressive of the most intense solemnity, 
dancing (as a good many people do) as if a quadrille were not 

thing to be laughed at, but a severe trial to the feelings, which 
it requires inflexible resolution to encounter. 

Silently and })atiently did the doctor bear all this, and all the 
handings of negus, and watching for glasses, and darting for 
biscuits, and coquetting, that ensued ; but, a few seconds after 
ihe stranger had disappeared to lead Mrs. Budger to her car- 
nage, he darted swiftly from the room, with every particle of 
his hitherto-bottled-up indignation effervescing, from all parts 
of his countenance, in a perspiration ©f passion. 

The stranger was returning, and Mr. Tupman was beside 
him. He spoke in a low tone, and laughed. The little doctor 
thirsted for his life. He was exulting. He had triumphed. 

“ Sir said the doctor in an awful voice, producing a card, 
and retiring into an angle of the passage, “ my name is Slam- 
mer, Doctor Slammer, Sir — 9tth regiment — Chatham Barracks 
— my card. Sir, my card.’^ He would have added more, but 
his indignation choked him. 

“Ah !” replied the stranger, coolly, “Slammer — much obliged 
- — polite attention — not ill now. Slammer — but when I am — 
knock you up.” 

“You — you’re a shuffler. Sir,” gasped the furious doctor, “a 
poltroon — a coward — a liar — a — a — will nothing induce you to 
give me your card. Sir ?” 

“ Oh 1 I see,” said the stranger, half aside, “ negus too strong 
here — liberal landlord — very foolish — very — lemonade much 
better — hot rooms — elderly gentlemen — suffer for it in the 
morning — cruel — cruel ;” and he moved on a step or two. 

“You are stopping in this house, Sir,” said the indigunnt 
little man ; “you are intoxicated now, Sir ; you shall hear fiom 
me in the morniiiff, Sir. I shall lind you out.” 

“ Rather you found me out, than found me at home,” replied 
the unmoved stranger. 

Doctor Slammer looked unutterable ferocity, as he lixed his 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


41 


hat on his head with an indignant knock : and the stranger and 
Mr. Tupraan ascended to the bedroom of the latter to restore 
the borrowed ])luinage to the unconscious Winkle. 

That gentleman was fast asleep ; the restoration was soon 
made. The stranger was extremely jocose; and Mr. Tracy 
Tupman, being quite bewildered with wine, negus, lights, and 
ladies, thought the whole affair an exquisite joke. His new 
friend departed ; and, after experiencing some slight difficulty 
in finding the orifice in his night-cap, originally intended for 
the reception of his head, and finally overturning his candlestick 
in his struggles to put it on, Mr. Tracy Tupman managed to 
get into bed, by a series of complicated evolutions, and shortly 
afterwards sank into repose. 

Seven o’clock had hardly ceased striking on the following 
morning, when Mr. Pickwick’s comprehensive mind was aroused 
from the state of unconsciousness, in which slumber had plunged 
it, by a loud knocking at his chamber door. 

“Who’s there?” said Mr. Pickwick, starting -up in bed. 

“Hoots, Sir.” 

“What do you want?” 

“Please, Sir, can you tell me, which gentleman of your party 
wears a bright blue dress coat, with a gilt button with P. C. on it ?” 

“It’s been given out to brush,” thought Mr. Pickwick; and 
the man has forgotten whom it belongs to — “Mr. Winkle,” he 
called out, “next room but two, on the right hand,” 

“Thank’ee, Sir,” said the Boots, and away he went. 

“What’s the matter?” cried Mr. Tupman, as a loud knocking 
at his door roused him from his oblivious repose. 

“Can I speak to Mr. Winkle, Sir?” replied the Boots, from 
the outside. 

“Winkle — Winkle,” shouted Mr. Tupman, calling into the 
inner room. 

“Hallo!” replied a faint voice from within the bed-clothes. 

“ You’re wanted — some one at the door — ” and having exerted 
himself to articulate thus much, Mr. Tracy Tupman turned 
round and fell fast asleep again. 

•• \\ antefl !” said Mr. Winkle, hastily jumping out of bed. and 
putting on a few articles clothing: “wanted! at this distance 
from town — who on earth can want me 1” 


42 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


‘^Geiitleman in the coffee-room, Sir,’’ replied the Boots, as Mr. 
Winkle opened the door, and confronted him; “gentleman says 
he’ll not detain you a moment. Sir, but he can take no denial.” 

“Very odd!” said Mr. Winkle; “I’ll be down directly.” 

He hurriedly wrapped himself in a traveling-shawl, and dress- 
ing-gown, and proceeded down stairs. An old womiiii aiul a 
couple of waiters were cleaning the coffee-room, and an officer 
in undress uniform was looking out of the window. He turned 
rouud as Mr. Winkle entered, and made a stiff inclination of the 
head. Having ordered the attendants to retire, and closed the 
door very carefully, he said, “Mr. Winkle, I presume?” 

“ My name is Winkle, Sir.” 

“You will not be surprised. Sir, when I inform you that I 
have called here this morning on behalf of my friend. Dr. Slam- 
mer, of the Ninety-seventh.” 

“Doctor Slammer 1” said Mr. Winkle. 

“ Doctor Slammer. He begged me to express his opinion 
that your conduct of last evening was of a description which no 
gentleman could endure : and (he added) which no one gentle- 
man would pursue towards another.” 

Mr. Winkle’s astonishment was too real, and too evident to 
escape the observation of Dr. Slammer’s friend ; he therefore 
proceeded. “ My friend, Doctor Slammer, requested me to add, 
that he is firmly persuaded you were intoxicated during a por- 
tion of the evening, and possibly unconscious of the extent of 
the insult you were guilty of. He commissioned me to say, that 
should this be pleaded as an excuse for your behaviour, he will 
consent to accept a written apology to be penned by you, from 
my dictation.” 

“ A written apology I” repeated Mr. Winkle, in the most 
emphatic tone of amazement possible. 

“Of course you know the alternative,” replied the visitor 
coolly. 

“Were you entrusted with this message to me, byname?” 
inquired Mr. Winkle, whose intellects were hopelessly confused 
by this extraordinary conversation. 

“I was not present myself,” replied the visitor, “and in con 
sequence of your firm refusal to give your card to Doctor Slam- 
meV, I was desired by that gentleman to identify the wearer of 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


43 


a very nincommon coat — a bright blue dress coat, with a gilt 
button, displaying a bust, and the letters ‘ P. C.' ” 

Mr. Winkle actually staggered with astonishment, as he heard 
bis own Costume thus minutely described. Doctor Slammer’s 
friend proceeded : — 

“ From the inquiries I made at the bar, just now, I was con- 
Tinced that the owner of the coat in question arrived here, with 
three gentlemen, yesterday afternoon. I immediately sent up 
to the gentleman who was described as appearing the head of 
the party ; and he at once referred me to you.” 

If the principal tower of Rochester Castle had suddenly 
walked from its foundation, and stationed itself opposite the 
coffee-room window, Mr. Winklers surprise would have been as 
nothing, compared with the profound astonishment with which 
he had heard this address. His first impression was, that his 
coat had been stolen. “ Will you allow me to detain you one 
moment ?” said he. 

“ Certainly,” replied the unwelcome visitor. 

Mr. Winkle ran hastily up-stairs, and with a trembling hand 
opened the bag. There was the coat in its usual place, but ex- 
hibiting, on a close inspection, evident tokens of having been 
worn on the preceding night. 

“It must be so,” said Mr. Winkle, letting the coat fall from 
his hands. “I took too much wine after dinner, and have 
a very vague recollection of walking about the streets, and smok- 
ing a cigar afterwards. The fact is, I was very drunk ; — I 
I must have changed my coat — gone somewhere — and insulted 
somebody — I have no doubt of it ; and this message is the ter- 
rible consequence.” Saying which, Mr. Winkle retraced his 
steps in the direction of the coffee-room, with the gloomy and 
dreadful resolve of accepting the challenge of the warlike Doc- 
tor Slammer, and abiding by the worst consequences that might 
ensue. 

To this determination Mr. Winkle was urged by a variety of 
considerations; the first of which was, his reputation with the 
(lub. He had always been looked up to as a high authority on 
all matters of amusement and dexterity, whether offensive, de- 
fensive, or inoffensive ; and if, on this very first occasion of 
being put to the test, he shrunk back from the trial, beneath 


44 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


bis leader’s eye, his name and standing were lost for ever. Be- 
sides, he remembered to have heard it frequently surmised by 
the uninitiated in such matters, that by an understood arrange 
ment between the seconds, the pistols were seldom loaded with 
ball ; and, furthermore, he reflected that if he applied to Mr. 
Snodgrass to act as his second, and depicted the danger in glow- 
ing terms, that gentleman might possibly communicate the intel- 
ligence to Mr. Pickwick, who would certainly lose no time in 
transmitting it to the local authorities, and thus prevent the 
killing or maiming of his follower. 

Such were his thoughts when he returned to the coffee-room, 
and intimated his intention of accepting the doctor’s challenge. 

‘‘Will you refer me to a friend, to arrange the time and 
place of meeting,” said the officer. 

“Quite unnecessary,” replied Mr. Winkle; “name them to 
me, and I can procure the attendance of a friend afterwards.” 

“ Shall we say — sunset this evening ?” inquired the officer, in 
a careless tone. 

“Very good,” replied Mr. Winkle, thinking in his heart it 
was very bad. 

“ You know Fort Pitt ?” 

“Yes; I saw it yesterday.” 

“ If you will take the trouble to turn into the field whicl 
borders the trench, take the foot-path to the left, when yoi/ 
arrive at an angle of the fortification ; and keep straight on till 
you see me ; I will precede you to a secluded place, where the 
affair can be conducted without fear of interruption.” 

“ Fear of interruption !” thought Mr. Winkle. 

“ Nothing more to arrange, I think,” said the officer. 

“ I am not aware of any thing more,” replied Mr. Winkle. 

“ Good morning.” 

“Good morning;” and the officer whistled a lively air, as 
ho strode away. 

That morning’s breakfast passed heavily off. Mr. Tupman 
was not in a condition to rise, after the unwonted dissipation 
of the previous night ; Mr. Snodgrass appeared to labor under 
a poetical depression of spirits ; and even Mr. Pickwick evinced 
an unusual attachment to silence and soda water. Mr. Winkle 
oagerly watched his opportunity. It was not long wanting. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


45 


Mr. Snodgrass proposed a visit to the castle, and as Mr. 
Winkle was the only other member of the party disposed to 
walk, they went out together. 

“ Snodgrass,’^ said Mr. Winkle, when they had turned out 
of the public street ; “ Snodgrass, my dear fellow, can I rely 
upon your secresy As he said this, he most devoutly and 
earnestly hoped he could not. 

“ You can,” replied Mr. Snodgrass. “ Hear me swear — ” 

“ No, no interrupted Winkle, terrified at the idea of his 
companion’s unconsciously pledging himself not to give informa- 
tion ; don’t swear, don’t swear : it’s quite unnecessary.” 

Mr. Snodgrass dropped the hand which he had in the spirit 
of poesy raised towards the clouds as he made the above appeal, 
and assumed an attitude of attention. 

“ I want your assistance, my dear fellow, in an affair of 
honor,” said Mr. Winkle. 

“You shall have it,” replied Mr. Snodgrass, clasping his 
friend’s hand. 

“ With a Doctor — Doctor Slammer, of the Nineh^-seventh,” 
said Mr. Winkle, wishing to make the matter appeal* as solemn 
as possible ; “ an affair with an officer, seconded by another 
officer, at sunset this evening, in a lonely field beyond Fort 
Pitt.” 

“ I will attend yon,” said Mr. Snodgrass. 

He was astonished, but by no means dismayed. It is extra 
ordinary how cool any party but the principal can be in such 
cases. Mr; Winkle had forgotten this. He had judged of his 
friend’s feelings by his own. 

“ Tlie consequences may be dreadful,” said Mr. Winkle. 

“ I hope not,” said Mr. Snodgrass. 

“ The Doctor, I believe, is a very good shot,” said Mr 
Winkle. 

“ Most of these military men are,” observed Mr. Snodgrass, 
talinly ; “ but so are you, a’n’t you ?” 

Mr. Winkle replied in the affirmative ; and perceiving that 
he had not alarmed his companion sufficiently, changed his 
ground. 

“ Snodgrass,” he said in a voice tremulous with emotion, “ if 


46 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


I fall, you will find in a packet which I shall place in your 
hands, a nute for my — ^for my father. ” 

This attack was a failure also. Mr. Snodgraiis was afft.cted, 
but he undertook the delivery of the note as readily as if he had 
been a Twopenny Postman. 

“ If I fall,” said Mr. Winkle, “ or if the doctor falls, you, 
my dear friend, will be tried as an accessory before the fact. 
Shall I involve my friend in transportation — possibly for life !” 

Mr. Snodgrass winced a little at this, but his heroism was 
invincible. “ In the cause of friendship,” he fervently exclaimed, 
“ I would brave all dangers.” 

How Mr, Winkle cursed his companion’s devoted friendship 
internally, as they walked silently along, side by side, for some 
minutes, each immersed in his own meditations I The morning 
was wearing away ; he grew desperate. 

“ Snodgrass,” he said, stopping suddenly, “ do not let me be 
baulked in this matter — do not give information to the local 
authorities — do not obtain the assistance of several peace officers, 
to take eithteiTiane or Doctor Slammer, of the Ninety-seventh 
Regiment, at present quartered in Chatham Barracks, into cus- 
tody, and thus prevent this duel ; — I say, do noV^ 

Mr. Snodgrass seized his friend’s hand warmly, as he enthu- 
siastically replied, “ Not for worlds !” 

A thrill passed over Mr. Winkle’s frame, as the conviction 
that he had nothing to hope from his friend’s fears, and that he 
was destined to become an animated target, rushed forcibly 
upon him. 

The state of the case having been formally explained to Mr. 
Snodgrass, and a case of satisfaction pistols, with the satisfac- 
tory accompaniments of powder, ball, and caps, having been 
hired from a manufacturer in Rochester, the two friends returned 
to their inn ; Mr. Winkle to ruminate on the approaching 
struggle ; and Mr. Snodgrass to arrange the weapons of ’var, 
a/ id put them into projier order for immediate use. 

It was a dull and heavy evening, when they again sallied 
foiLh on their awkward errand. Mr. Winkle was muffled up in 
a huge cloak to escape observation ; and Mr. Snodgrass bore 
luider his the instruments of destruction. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


47 


** Have you got ev’ry thing V' said Mr. Winkle, in an agi- 
tated tone. 

“Every thing,” replied Mr. Snodgrass; “plenty of ammuni- 
tion in case the shots don’t take effect. There’s a quarter of a 
pound of powder in the case, and I have got two newspapers 
in my pocket for the loadings.” 

These were instances of friendship for which any man might 
reasonably feel most grateful. The presumption is, that the 
gratitude of Mr. Winkle was too powerful for utterance, as he 
said nothing, but continued to walk on- — rather slowly. 

“We are in excellent time,” said Mr. Snodgrass, as they 
climbed the fence of the first field ; “ the sun is just going 
down.” Mr. Winkle looked up at the declining orb, and pain- 
fully thought of the probability of his “ going down” himselt, 
before long. 

“There’s the officer,” exclaimed Mr. Winkle, after a few min- 
utes’ walking. 

“Where?” said Mr. Snodgi*ass. 

“ There ; — the gentleman in the blue cloak.” Mr. Snodgrass 
looked in the direction indicated by the forefinger of his friend, 
and observed a figure muffled up, as he had described. The 
officer evinced his consciousness of their presence by slightly 
beckoning with his hand ; and the two friends followed him at a 
little distance, as he walked away. 

The evening grew more dull every moment, and a melancholy 
wind sounded through the deserted fields like a distant giant, 
whistling for his house-dog. The sadness of the scene imparted 
a sombre tinge to the feelings of Mr. Winkle. He started as 
they passed the angle of the trench— it looked like a colossal 
grave. 

The officer turned suddenly from the path ; and after climb- 
ing a paling, and scaling a hedge, entered a secluded field. 
Two gentlemen were waiting in it: one was a little fat man with 
black hair; and the other — a portly personage in a braided sur- 
tout — was sitting with perfect equanimity on a camp-stool. 

“The other party, and a surgeon, I suppose,” said Mr. Snod- 
grass; “take a drop of brandy.” Mr. Winkle seized the 
wicker bottle, which his friend proffered, and took a lengthened 
pull at the exhilarating liquid. 


48 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


friend, Sir, Mr. Snodgrass,” said Mr. Winkle, as the 
officer approached. Doctor Slammer’s friend bowed, and pro- 
duced a case similar to that which Mr. Snodgrass cairied. 

‘■‘’W^'e have nothing further to say. Sir, I think,” he coldly 
remarked, as he opened the case; “an apology has been reso 
lutely declined.” 

“ Nothing, Sir,” said Mr. Snodgrass, who began to feel rather 
uncomfortable himself. 

“ Will you step forward ?” said the officer. 

“ Certainly,” replied Mr. Snodgrass. The ground was mea- 
sured, and preliminaries arranged. 

♦ “ You will find these better than your own,” said the opposite 
second, producing his pistols. “You saw me load them. Do 
you object to use them ?” 

“ Certainly not,” replied Mr. Snodgrass. The offer relieved 
him fuom considerable embarrassment; for his previous notions 
of loading a pistol were rather vague and undefined. 

“We may place our men, then, I think,” observed the officer, 
with as much indifference as if the principals were chess-men, 
and the seconds players. 

“I think we may,” replied Mr. Snodgrass; who would have 
assented to any proposition, because he knew nothing about the 
matter. The officer crossed to Doctor Slammer, and Mr. Snod- 
grass went up to Mr. Winkle. 

“ It’s all ready,” he said, offering the pistol. “ Give me your 
cloak.” 

“You have got the packet, my dear fellow,” said poor 
Winkle. 

“All right,” said Mr. Snodgrass. “Be steady, and wing 
him.” 

It occurred to Mr. Winkle that this advice was veiy like that 
which bystanders invariably give to the smallest boy in a street- 
fight; namely, “Go in, and win;”« — an admirable thing to re- 
commend, if you only know how to do it. He took off his 
cloak, however, in silence — it always took a long time to undo 
that cloak — and accepted the pistol. The seconds retired, the 
gentleman on the camp-stool did the same, and the belligerents 
approached each other. 

Mr. Winkle was always remarkable for extreme humanity. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


49 


It is conjectured that his unwillingness to hurt a fellow-creature 
intentionally was the cause of his shutting his eyes when he 
arrived at the fatal spot ; and that the circumstance of his eyes 
being closed, prevented his observing the veiy extraordinary 
and unaccountable demeanor of Doctor Slammer. That ‘gen- 
tleman started, stared, retreated, rubbed his eyes, stared again j 
and, finally, shouted “Stop, stop I” 

“ What’s all this I” said Doctor Slammer, as his friend and 
Mr. Snodgrass came running up — “ That’s not the man. 

“Not the man I” said Doctor Slammer’s second. 

“ Not the man I” said Mr. Snodgrass. 

“Not the man I” said the gentleman with the camp-stool in 
his band. / 

“ Certainly not,” replied the little doctor. “That’s not the 
person who insulted me last night.” 

“Yery extraordinary I” exclaimed the officer. 

“Very,” said the gentleman with the camp-stool. The 
only question is, whether the gentleman, being on the ground, 
must not be considered, as a matter of form, to be the indi- 
vidual who insulted our friend. Doctor Slammer, yesterday eve- 
ning, whether he is really that individual or not, and having 
delivered this suggestion, with a very sage and mysterious air, 
the man with the camp-stool took a large pinch of snuff, and 
looked profoundly round, with the air of an authority in such 
matters. 

Now Mr. Winkle had opened his eyes, and his ears too, 
when he heard his adversary call out for a cessation of hostili- 
ties ; and perceiving by what he had afterwards said, that there 
was, beyond all question, some mistake in the matter, he at once 
foresaw the increase of reputation he should inevitably acquire, 
by concealing the real motive of his coming out : he, therefore 
stepped boldly forward, and said — 

“ I am not the person. I know it.” 

“Then that,” said the man with the camp-stool, “is an af- 
front to Doctor Slammer, and a sufficient reason for proceeding 
immediately. ” 

“Pray, be quiet, Payne, said the doctor’s second. “Why 
did you not communicate this fact to me this morning. Sir ?” 

4 


60 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“To be §ure, to be sure,” said the man with the camp-stool, 
iiidignantiy. 

“1 entreat you to be quiet, Payne,” said the other. “May 
I repeat my question. Sir ?” 

“Because, Sir,” replied Mr. Winkle, who had time to delib- 
erate upon his answer, — “because. Sir, you described an intoxi- 
f ated and ungentlemanly person as wearing a coat, which I have 
the honor, not only to wear, but to have invented — the proi»osed 
uniform. Sir, of the Pickwick Club in London. The honor of 
that uniform I feel bound to maintain, and I, therefore, without 
inquiry, accepted the challenge which you offered me.” 

“My dear Sir,” said the good-humored little doctor, advan- 
cing with extended hand,^ “ I honor your gallantry. Permit 
me to say. Sir, that I highly admh*e your conduct, and ex- 
tremely regret having caused you the inconvenience of this 
meeting, to no purpose.” 

“I beg you won’t mention it. Sir,” said Mr. Winkle. 

“ I shall feel proud of your acquaintance. Sir,” said the little 
doctor. 

“ It will afford me the greatest pleasure to know you, Sir,” 
replied Mr. Winkle. Thereupon, the doctor and Mr. Winkle 
shook hands, and then Mr. Winkle and Lieutenant Tappleton 
(the doctor’s second), and then Mr. Winkle and the man with 
the camp-stool, and, finally, Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass ; 
the last-named gentleman in an excess of admiration at the 
noble conduct of his heroic friend. 

“I think we may adjourn,” said Lieutenant Tappleton. 

“ Certainly,” added the doctor. 

“Unless,” interposed the man with the camp-stool, “unless 
Mr. Winkle feels himself aggrieved by the challenge; in which 
case, I submit, he has a right to satisfaction. ” 

Mr. Winkle, with great self-denial, expressed himself quite 
satisfied already. 

“Or possibly,” said the man with the camp-stool, “the gen- 
tleman’s second may feel himself affronted with some observa- 
tions which fell from me at an early period of this meeting ; if 
BO, I shall be happy to give Mm satisfaction immediately.” 

Mr. Snodgrass hastily professed himself very much obliged 
with the handsome offer of the gentleman who had spoken last, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


51 


which he was only induced to decline, by his entire contentment 
with the whole proceedings. The two seconds adjusted the 
cases, and the whole party left the ground in a much more lively 
manner than they had proceeded to it. 

“ Do you remain long here inquired Doctor Slammer of 
Mr. Winkle, as they walked on most amicably together. 

“ I think we shall leave here the day after to-morrow,” was 
the reply. 

“ I trust I shall have the pleasure of seeing you and your 
friend at my rooms, and of spending a pleasant evening with 
you, after this awkward mistake,” said the little doctor ; “ are 
you disengaged this evening?” 

“We have some friends here,” replied Mr. Winkle, “and I 
should not like to leave them to-night. Perhaps you and your 
friend will join us at the Bull.” 

“ With great pleasure,” said the little doctor ; “ will ten 
o’clock be too late to look in for half an hour ?” 

“Oh dear, no,” said Mr. Winkle. “J shall be most happy 
to introduce you to my friend.s, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tup- 
man.” 

“ It will give me great pleasure, I am sure,” replied Dr. 
Slammer, little suspecting who Mr. Tupman was. 

“ You will be sure to come ?” said Mr. Snodgrass. 

“ Oh, certainly.” 

By this time they had reached the road. Cordial farewells 
were exchanged, and the party separated. Doctor Slammer and 
his friends repaired to the barracks, and Mr. Winkle, accom- 
panied by his friend, Mr. Snodgrass, returned to their inn. 


CHAPTER III. 


A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 

Mr. Pickwick liad felt some apprehensions in consequence 
of the unusual absence of his two friends, which their mysterious 
behavior during the whole morning had by no means tended to 
diminish. It was, therefore, with more than ordinary pleasure, 
that he rose to greet them when they again entered ; and with 
more than ordinary interest that he inquir-ed what had occurred 
to detain them from his society. In reply to his questions 
on this point, Mr. Snodgrass was about to offer an. historical 
account of the circumstances just now detailed, when he* was 
suddenly checked, by observing that there were present, not 
only Mr. Tupman and their stage-coach companion of the pre- 
ceding day, but another stranger of equally singular appear- 
ance. It was a care-worn looking man, whose sallow face, and 
deeply sunken eyes, were rendered still more striking than na- 
ture had made them, by the straight black hair which hung in 
matted disorder half way down his face. His eyes were almost 
unnaturally bright and piercing ; his cheek-bones were high and 
prominent ; and his jaws were so long and lank, that an ob- 
server would have supposed he was drawing the flesh of his 
face in, for a moment, by some contraction of the muscles, if 
his half-opened mouth and immoveable expression had not an- 
nounced that it was his ordinary appearance. Round his neck 
he wore a green shawl, with the large ends straggling over hia 
chest, and making their appearance occasionally, beneath the 
worn button-holes of his old waistcoat. His upper garment 
was a long black surtout ; and below it he wore wide drab 
trousers, and large boots, running rapidly to seed. 

It was on this uncouth looking person, that Mr. Winkle^ 
eye rested, and it was towards him that Mr. Pickwick extended 
his hand, when he said, “ A friend of our friend’s here. We 
discovered this morning that our friend was connected with the 
theatre in this place, though he is not desirous to have it gener- 
( 62 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


58 


ally known, and this gentleman is a member of the same pro- 
fession. He was about to favor us with a little anecdote con- 
nected with it when you entered.” 

“ Lots of anecdotes,” said the green-coated stranger of the 
day before, advancing to Mr. Winkle and speaking in a low 
confidential tone. “ Rum fellow — does the heavy business — no 
actor — strange man — all sorts of miseries — dismal Jemmy, we 
call him on the circuit.” Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass 
politely welcomed the gentleman, elegantly designated as “Dis- 
mal Jemmy;” and calling for brandy and water, in imitation 
of the remainder of the company, seated themselves at the table. 

“Now, sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, “will you oblige us by pro- 
ceeding with what you were going to relate ?” 

The dismal individual took a dirty roll of paper from his 
pocket, and turning to Mr. Snodgrass, who had just taken out 
bis note-book, said in a holloAv voice, perfectly in keeping with 
his outward man — “ Are you the poet ?” 

“ I — I do a little in that way,” replied Mr." Snodgrass, rather 
taken aback by the abruptness of the cpiestion. 

“ Ah ! poetry makes life, what lights and music do the stage. 
Strip the one of its false embellishments, and the other of its 
illusions, and what is there real in either, to live or care for ?” 

“ Yery true. Sir,” replied Mr. Snodgrass. 

“ To be before the footlights,” continued the dismal man, “is 
like sitting at a grand court show, and admiring the silken 
dresses of the gaudy throng — to be behind them, is to be the 
people who make that finery, uncared for and unknown, and 
left to sink or swim, to starve or live, as fortune wills it.” 

“ Certainly,” said Mr. Snodgrass : for the sunken eye of the 
dismal man rested on him, and he felt it necessary to say some- 
thing. 

“Go on. Jemmy,” said the Spanish traveler, “like black-eyed 
Susan — all in theDowns — no croaking — speak out — look lively.” 

“ Will you make another glass before you begin. Sir ?” said 
Mr. Pickwick.” 

The dismal man took the hint, and having mixed a glass of 
brandy and water, and slowly swallowed half of it, opened the 
roll of paper and proceeded, partly to read, and partly to re- 
late, the following incident, which we find recorded on the 


CHAPTER lY. 


THE stroller’s TALE — A DISAGREEABLE INTERRUPTION ; AND 
AN UNPLEASANT RENCONTRE. 

“ There is nothing of the marvellous in what I am going to 
relate,” said the dismal man, ‘'there is nothing even uncommon 
ill it. Want and sickness are too common in many stations of 
life, to deserve more notice than is usually bestowed on the most 
ordinary jjjcissitudes of human nature. I have thrown these 
few notes together, because the subject of them was well known 
to me for many years. I traced his progress downwards, step 
by step, until at last he reached that excess of destitution from 
which he never rosS again. 

“The man of whom I speak was alow pantomime actor; 
and, like many people of his class, an habitual drunkard. In 
his better days, before he had become enfeebled by dissipation 
and emaciated by disease, he had been in the receipt of a good 
salary, which, if he had been careful and prudent, he might 
have continued to receive for some years — not many ; because 
these men either die early, or, by unnaturally taxing their bodily 
energies, lose, prematurely, those physical powers on which 
aloae they can depend for subsistence. His besetting sin gained 
so fast upon him, however, that it was found impossible to 
employ him in the situations in which he really was useful to 
the theatre. The public-house had a fascination for him which 
he could not resist. Neglected disease and ho])eless poverty 
were as certain to be his portion as death itself, if he persevered 
ill the same course ; yet he did persevere, and the result may be 
guessed. He could obtain no engagement, and he wanted 
bread. 

“Every body who is at all acquainted with theatrical matters, 
knows what a host of shabby, poverty-stricken men, hang about 
the stage of a large establishment — not regularly engaged 
actors, but ballet people, procession men, tumblers, and so forth, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


56 


who are taken on during the run of a pantomime or an Easter 
piece, and are then discharged, until the production of some 
heavy spectacle occasions a new demand for their services. To 
this mode of life the man was compelled to resort ; and taking 
the chair every night, at some low theatrical house, at once put 
him in possession of a few more shillings weekly, and enabled 
him to gratify his old propensity. Even this resource shortly^ 
failed him ; his irregularities were too great to admit of his 
earning the wretched pittance he might thus have procured, and 
he was actually reduced to a state bordering on starvation, only 
procuring a trifle occasionally by borrowing it of some old com- 
panion, or by obtaining an appearance at one or other of the 
commonest of the minor theatres ; and when he did earn any 
thing, it was spent in the old way. 

“ About this time, and when he had been existing for upwards 
of a year no one knew how, I had a short engagement at one 
of the theatres on the Surrey side of the water, and here I saw 
this man, whom I had lost sight of for some time ; for I had 
been traveling in the provinces, and he had been skulking in 
the lanes and alleys of London. I was dressed to leave the 
house, and was crossing the stage on my way out, when ho 
tapped me on the shoulder. ever shall I forget the repulsive 
sight that met my eye when I turned round. He was dressed 
for the pantomime, in all the absurdity of a clown’s costume. 
The spectral figures in the Dance of Death, the most frightful 
shapes that the ablest painter ever portrayed on canvass, never 
presented an appearance half so ghastly. His bloated body 
and shrunken legs, their deformity enhanced a hundred fold by 
the fantastic dress — the glassy eyes, contrasting fearfully with 
the thick white paint with which the face was besmeared : the 
grotesquely-ornamented head, trembling with paralysis, and the 
long skinny hands, rubbed with white chalk — all gave him a 
hideous and unnatural appearance, of which no description 
could convey an adequate idea, and which, to this day, I shud- 
der to think of. His voice was hollow and tremulous, as he 
took me aside, and in broken words recounted a long catalogue 
of sickness and privations, terminating, as usual, with an urgent 
request for the loan of a trifling sum of monev. T pi't a few 


66 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


shillings in his hand, and, as I turned away, I heard the roar of 
laughter which followed his first tumble on to the stage. 

“ A few nights afterwards, a boy put a dirty scrap of paper in 
my hand, on which were scrawled a few words in pencil, inti- 
mating that the man was dangerously ill, and begging me, after 
the performance, to see him at his lodgings in some street — I 
forget the name of it now — at no great distance from the theatre. 
I promised to comply, as soon as 1 could get away ; and, after 
the curtain fell, sallied forth on my melancholy errand. 

“ It was late, for I had been playing in the last piece ; and, 
as it was a benefit night, the performances had been protracted 
to an unusual length. It was a dark cold night, with a chill 
damp wind, which blew the rain heavily against the windows 
and house-fronts. Pools of w^ater had collected in the narrow 
and little-frequented streets, and as many of the thinly- scattered 
oil-lamps had been blowm out by the violence of the wdnd, tne 
walk was not only a comfortless, but most uncertain one. I 
had fortunately taken the right course, however, and succeeded, 
after a little difficulty, in finding the house to which I had been 
directed — a coal shed, with one story above it, in the back room 
of which lay the object of my search. 

“ A wretched-looking woman, the man’s wife, met me on the 
stairs, and, telling me that he had just fallen into a kind of doze, 
led me softly in, and placed a chair for me at the bed-side. The 
sick man wms lying with his face turned towmrds the wmll ; and 
as he took no heed of my presence, I had leisure to obseiw e the 
place in wdiich I found myself. 

“ He was lying on an old bedstead, which turned up during 
the day. The tattered remains of a checked curtain w^ere druAvn 
round the bed’s head, to exclude^ the wind, which however made 
its w'ay into the comfortless room through the numerous chinks 
in :he door, and blew it to and fro every instant. There wms a 
low’ cinder fire in a rusty unfixed grate ; and an old three-cor- 
nered stained table, with some medicine-bottles, a broken glass, 
and a few’ other domestic articles, was drawm out before it. A 
little child w’as sleeping on a temporary bed which had been 
made for it on the floor, and the woman sat on a chair by its 
side. There were a couple of shelves, with a few plates and 
cups and saucers : and a pair of stage shoes and a couple of 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


67 


foils hung beneath them. With the exception of little heaps 
of rags and bundles which had been carelessly thrown into the 
corners of the room, these were the only things in the apart- 
ment. 

I had had time to note these little particulars, and to mark the 
heavy breathing and feverish startings of the sick man, before 
he was aware of my presence. In his restless attempts to pro- 
cure some easy resting-place for his head, he tossed his hand 
out of the bed, and it fell on mine. He started up, and stared 
eagerly in my face. 

“‘Mr. Hutley, John,’’ said his wife; ‘Mr. Hutley, that you 
sent for to-night, you know.’ 

“‘Ah!’ said the invalid, passing his hand across his fore- 
head ; ‘Hutley — Hutley — let me see.’ He seemed endeavoring 
to collect his thoughts for a few seconds, and then grasping me 
tightly by the wrist, said, ‘ Don’t leave me — don’t leave me, old 
fellow. She’ll murder me ; I know she will.’ 

“‘Has he been long so?’ said I, addressing his weeping 
wife. 

“‘Since yesterday night,* she replied. John, John, don’t 
you know me ? 

“ ‘ Don’t let her come near me,’ said the man, with a shudder, 
as she stooped over him. ‘ Drive her away ; I can’t bear her 
near me.’ He stared wildly at her, with a look of deadly ap- 
prehension, and then whispered in my ear, ‘ I beat her, J em ; I 
beat her yesterday, and many times before. I have starved 
her, and the boy too ; and now I am weak and helpless Jem, 
she’ll murder me for it ; I know she will. If you’d seen her 
cry, as I have, you’d know it too. Keep her off.’ He relaxed 
his grasp, and sunk back exhausted on the pillow. 

“ I knew but too well what all this meant. If I could have 
entertained any doubt of it, for an instant, one glance at the 
woman’s pale face and wasted form would have sufficiently ex- 
plained the real state of the case. ‘You had better stand aside, 
said I to the poor creature. You can do him no good. Per 
haps he will be calmer, if he does not see you.’ She retired out 
of the man’s sight. He opened his eyes, after a few seconds, 
and looked anqiously round. 

“ ‘ Is she gone ?” he eagerly inquired. 


68 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


/ 

<* • Yes — ^yes,’ said I ; ‘ she shall not hurt jou.^ 

Idl tell you what, Jem,’ said the man, in a low voice, ‘ she 
does hurt me. There’s something in her eyes wakes such a 
dreadful fear in my heart, that it drives me mad. All last night, 
her large staring eyes and pale face were close to mine ; where- 
ever I turned, they turned ; and whenever I started up from my 
sleep, she was at the bedside looking at me.’ He drew me 
closer to him, as he said in a deep, alarmed whisper — ‘ Jem, she 
must be an evil spirit — a devil ! Hush ! I know she is. If she 
Lad been a woman, she would have died long ago. Ho woman 
could have borne what she has.’ 

“ I sickened at the thought of the long course of cruelty 
and neglect which must have occurred to produce such an im- 
pression on such a man. I could say nothing in reply ; for 
who could offer hope, or consolation, to the abject being 
before me ? 

. “ I sat there for upwards of two hours, during which time he 
tossed about, murmuring exclamations of pain or impatience, 
restlessly throwing his arms here and there, and turning con- 
stantly from side to side. At length he fell into that state of 
partial unconsciousness, in which the mind wanders uneasily 
from scene to scene, and from place to place, without the con- 
trol of reason, but still without being able to divest itself of an 
indescribable sense of present suffering. Finding from his in- 
coherent wanderings that this was the case, and knowing that 
in all probability the fever would not grow immediately worse, 
I left him, promising his miserable wife that I would repeat my 
< visit next evening, and if necessary sit up with the patient during 
the night. 

“ I kept my promise. The last four-and -twenty hours had 
produced a frightful alteration. The eyes, though deeply sunk 
and heavy, shone with a lustre, frightful to behold. The lips 
were parched and cracked in many places : the dry hard skin 
glowed with a burning heat, and there was an almost unearthly 
air of wild anxiety in the man’s face, indicating even more 
strongly the ravages of the disease. The fever wms at its 
Iieight. 

“ I took the seat I had occupied the night before, and there I 
sat for hours, listening to sounds which must strike deep, to the 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


50 


heart of the most callous among human beings — ^the awful rav- 
ings of a dying man. lYom what I had heard of the medical 
attendant’s opinion, I knew there was no hope for him ; I was 
sitting by his death-bod. I saw the wasted limbs, which a few 
hours before had been distorted for the amusement of a boiste- 
rous gallery, writhing under the tortures of a burning fever — I 
heard the clown’s shrill laugh, blending with the low murmuriugs 
of the dying man. 

“ It is a touching thing to hear the mind reverting to the or- 
dinary occupations and pursuits of health, when the body lies 
before you weak and helpless ; but when those occupations are 
of a character the most strongly opposed to any thing we as- 
sociate with grave or solemn ideas, the impression produced is 
infinitely more powerful. The theatre, and the public-house, 
were the chief themes of the wretched man’s wanderings. It 
was evening, he fancied; he had a part to play that night; it 
was late, and he must leave home instantly. Why did they 
hold him, and prevent his going — he should lose the money — he 
must go. No ! they would not let him. He hid his face in his 
burning hands, and feebly bemoaned his own weakness, and the 
cruelty of his persecutors. A short pause, and he shouted out 
a few doggerel rhymes — the last he had ever learned. He rose 
in bed, drew up his withered limbs, and rolled about in uncouth 
positions ; he was acting — he was at the theatre. A minute’s 
silence, and he murmured the burden of some roaring song. He 
had reached the old house at last ; how hot the room was. He 
had been ill, very ill, but he was well now, and happy. Fill up 
his glass. Who was that, that dashed it from his lips ? It was 
the same persecutor that had followed him before. He fell back 
upon his pillow, and moaned aloud. A short period of obli- 
vion, and he was wandering through a tedious maze of low 
arched rooms — so low, sometimes, that he must creep upon his 
hands and knees to make his way along ; it was close and dark, 
and every way he turned, some obstacle impeded his progress. 
There were insects too, hideous crawling things, with eyes that 
stared upon him, and filled the very air around ; glistening hor- 
ribly amidst the thick darkness of the place. The walls and 
ceilings were alive with reptiles — the vault expanded to an 
enormous size — frightful figures flitted to and fro — and the faces 


60 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


of men he knew, rendered hideous by gibing and mouthing, 
peered out from among them ; they were searing him with heated 
irons, and binding his head with cords till the blood started ; and 
he struggled madly for life. 

“ At the close of one of these paroxysms, when I had with 
great difficulty held him down in his bed, he sank into what ap 
peared to be a slumber. Overpowered with watching and exer- 
tion, I had closed my eyes for a few minutes, when I felt a 
violent clutch on my shoulder. I awoke instantly. He had 
raised himself up, so as to seat himself in bed — a dreadful 
change had come over his face, but consciousness had returned, 
for he evidently knew me. The child, who had been long since 
disturbed by his ravings, rose from its little bed, and ran to- 
wards its father, screaming with fright — the mother hastily 
caught it in her arms, lest he should injure it in the violence of 
his insanity: but, terrified by the alteration of his features, stood 
transfixed by the bedside. He grasped my shoulder convul- 
sively, and, striking his breast with the other hand, made a des- 
perate attempt to articulate. It was unavailing — he extended 
his arm towards them, and made another violent effort. There 
was a rattling noise in the throat — a glare of the eye — a short 
stifled groan — and he fell baek — dead I” 


It would afford us the highest gratification to be enabled to 
record Mr. Pickwick’s opinion of the foregoing anecdote. We 
have little doubt that we should have been enabled to present it 
to our readers, but for a most unfortunate accurrence. 

Mr. Pickwick had replaced on the table the glass which, dur- 
ing the last few sentences of the tale, he had retained in his • 
hand ; and had just made up his mind to speak — indeed, we 
have the authority of Mr. Snodgrass’s note-book for stating, 
that he had actually opened his mouth — when the waiter entered 
the room, and said : 

“Some gentlemen. Sir.” 

It has beeu conjectured that the Mr. Pickwick was on the 
point of delivering some remarks which would have enlightened 
the world; if not the Thames, when he was thus interrupted: fo» 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


61 


he gazed sternly on the waiter’s countenance, and ihon looked 
round on the company generally, as if seeking for information 
relative to the new comers. 

“Ohl” said Mr. Winkle, rising, “some friends of mine — show 
them in. Very pleasant fellows,” added Mr. Winkle, after the 
waiter had retired — “Officers of the 9tth, whose acquaintance I 
made rather oddly this morning. You will like them very 
much.” 

Mr. Pickwick’s equanimity was at once restored The waiter 
returned, and ushered three gentlemen into the room. 

“Lieutenant Tappleton,” said Mr. Winkle, “Lieutenant Tap- 
pleton, Mr. Pickwick — Doctor Payne, Mr. Pickwick — Mr. Snod- 
grass, you have seen before; my friend Mr. Tupman, Doctor 
Payne — Doctor Slammer, Mr. Pickwick — Mr. Tupman, Doctor 
Slam—” 

Here Mr. Winkle suddenly paused ; for strong emotions were 
visible on the countenance both of Mr. Tupman and the doc- 
tor. 

“I have met this gentleman before,” said the doctor, with 
marked emphasis. 

“Indeed!” said Mr. Winkle. 

“And — that person, too, if I am not mistaken,” said the doc- 
tor, bestowing a scrutinizing glance on the green-coated stranger. 
“ I think I gave that person a very pressing invitation last night, 
which he thought proper to decline.” Saying which, the doc- 
tor scowled magnanimously on the stranger, and whispered his 
friend Lientenant Tappleton. 

“You don’t say so,” said that gentleman, at the conclusion 
of the whisper. 

“ I do, indeed,” replied Doctor Slammer. 

“You are bound to kick him on the spot,” murmured the 
owner of the camp-stool, Avith great importance. 

“Do be quiet, Payne,” interposed the lieutenant. “Will you 
allow me to ask you. Sir,” he said, addressing Mr. Pickwick, 
who wa/considerably mystified by this very unpolite by- play — 
“ Will you allow me to ask you. Sir, whether that person belongs 
to your party?” 

“No, Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick, “he is a guest of ours.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


He is a member of your club, or I am mistaken ?” said tho 
lieutenant, inquiringly. 

‘‘Certainly not,” responded Mr. Pickwick. 

“And never wears your club-button ?” said tlie lieutenant. 

“Iso — never!” replied the astonished Mr. Pickwick. 

Lieutenant Tappleton turned round to his friend Doctor 
Slammer, with a scarcely perceptible shrug of the shoulder, qs if 
implying some doubtof the accuracy of his recollection. Tlie liHle 
doctor looked wrathful, but confounded ; and Mr. Payne gazed 
with a ferocious aspect on the beaming countenance of the un- 
conscious Pickwick. 

“Sir,” said the doctor, suddenly addressing Mr. Tupman, in 
a tone which made that gentleman start as perceptibly as if a 
pin had been cunningly inserted in the calf of his leg — “you were 
at the ball here, last night?” 

Mr. Tupman gasped a faint affirmative ; looking very hard at 
Mr. Pickwick all the while. 

“ That person was your companion,” said the doctor, point- 
ing to the still unmoved stranger. 

Mr. Tupman admitted the fact. 

“Now, Sir,” said the doctor to the stranger, “I ask you 
once again, in the presence of these gentlemen, whether you 
choose to give me your card, and to receive the treatment of a 
gentleman ; or whether you impose upon me the necessity of 
personally chastising you on the spot ?” 

“Stay, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick. “I really cannot allow this 
matter to go any further without some explanation. Tupman, 
recount the circumstances.” 

Mr. Tupman, thus solemnly adjured, stated the case in a few 
words ; touched slightly on the borrowing of the coat ; expatiated 
largely on its having been done “after dinner;” wound up with a 
little penitence on his own account; and left the stranger to 
clear himself as he best could. 

He was apparently about to proceed to do so, when Lieuten- 
ant Tappleton, who had been eyeing him with great^uriosity 
said with considerable scorn — “Haven’t I seen you at the 
theatre, Sir?” 

“ Certainly,” replied the unabashed stranger. 

“He is a strolling actor,” said the lieutenant, contemptu- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


C3 


OTisly : turning to Doctor Slammer — “ He acts in the piece that 
the officers of the 52d get up at the Rochester theatre to-mor- 
row night. You cannot proceed in this affair, Slammer — im- 
possible I’’ 

Quite I’^ said the dignified Payne. 

“ Sorry to have placed you in this disagreeable situation, 
said Lieutenant Tappleton, addressing Mr. Pickwick, “allow 
me to suggest, that the best way of avoiding a recurrence of 
such scenes in future, will be to be more select in the choice of 
your companions. Good evening, Sir I” and the lieutenant 
bounced out of the room. 

“And allow me to say, Sir,^’ said the irascible Doctor Payne, 
“that if I had been Tappleton, or if I had been Slammer, I 
would have pulled your nose, Sir, and the nose of every man in 
this company. I would. Sir, — every man. Payne is my name. 
Sir — Doctor Payne of the 43d. Good evening. Sir.” Having 
concluded this speech, and uttered the three last words in a 
loud key, he stalked majestically after his friend, closely followed 
by Doctor Slammer, who said nothing, but contented himself 
by withering the company with a look. 

Rising rage and extreme bewilderment had swelled the noble 
breast of Mr. Pickwick, almost to the bursting of his waistcoat, 
during the delivery of the above defiance. He stood transfixed 
to the spot, gazing on vacancy. The closing of the door re- 
called him to himself. He rushed forward with fury in his looks, 
and fire in his eye. His hand was upon the lock of the door ; 
in another instant it would have been on the throat of Dr. Payne 
of the 43d, had not Mr. Snodgrass seized his revered leader by 
the coat tail, and dragged him backwards. 

“ Restrain him,” cried Mr. Snodgrass, “Winkle, Tupman — 
he must not peril his distinguished life in such a cause as this. ” 

“ Let me go,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Hold him tight,” shouted Mr, Snodgrass ; and by the 
united efforts of the whole company^ Mr. Pickwick was forced 
into an ifcn-chair. 

“ Leave him alone,” said the green-coated stranger — “brandy 
and water — jolly old gentleman — lots of pluck — swallow this — - 
ah I capital stuff. ” Having previously tested the virtues of a 
bumper, which had been mixed by the dismal man, the stranger 


64 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


applied the glass to Mr. Pickwick’s mouth ; and the remainder 
of its contents rapidly disappeared. 

There was a short pause ; the brandy and water had done 
its work ; the amiable countenance of Mr. Pickwick was fast 
recovering its customary expression. 

“ They are not worth your notice,” said the dismal man. 
“You are right, Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick, “they are not 
T am ashamed to have been betrayed into this warmth of feel 
iug. Draw your chair up to the table. Sir. ” 

The dismal man readily complied ; a circle was again formed 
round tliTtabi^ and harmony once more prevailed. Some lin- 
gering irritability appeared to find a resting-place in Mr. Win- 
kle’s bosom, occasioned possibly by the temporary abstraction 
of his coat — though it is scarcely reasonable to suppose, that 
so slight a circumstance can have excited even a passing feeling 
of anger in a Pickwickian breast. With this exception, their 
good-humor was completely restored ; and the evening concluded 
with the conviviality with which it had begun. 


t 


CHAPTER Y. 


X FIELD-DAY AND BIVOUAC — MORE NEW FRIENDS; AND AN IN- 
VITATION TO THE COUNTRY. 

Many authors entertain, not only a foolish, but a really dis- 
honest objection, to acknowledge the sources from whence they 
derive much valuable information. We have no such feeling. 
We are merely endeavoring to discharge in an upright manner, 
the responsible duties of our editorial functions ; and whatever 
ambition we might have felt under other circumstances, to lay 
claim to the authorship of these adventures, a regard for truth 
forbids us to do more, than claim the merit of their judicious 
arrangement, and impartial narration. The Pickwick papers 
are our New River Head; and we may be compared to the 
New River Company. The labors of others have raised for us 
an immense reservoir of important facts. We merely lay them 
on, and communicate them, in a clear and gentle stream, through 
the medium of these numbers, to a world thirsting for Pick- 
wickian knowledge. 

Acting in this spirit, and resolutely proceeding on our deter- 
mination to avow our obligations to the authorities we have con- 
sulted, we frankly say, that to the note-book of Mr. Snodgrass 
are we indebted for the particulars recorded in this, and the 
succeeding chapter — particulars which, now that we have dis- 
burdened our conscience, we shall proceed to detail without 
further comment. 

The whole population of Rochester and the adjoining towns, 
rose from their beds at an early hour of the following morning, 
in a slate of the utmost bustle and excitement. A grand review 
was to take place upon the lines. The manoeuvres of half a 
dozen regiments were to be inspected by the eagle eye of the 
commander-in-chief ; temporary fortifications had been erected, 
the citadel was to be attacked and taken, and a mine was to bo 
sprung. 

5 


( 65 ) 


66 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


\ 


]Mr. Pickwick was, as our readers may have p:athcrcd from 
the slight extract we gave from his description of Cliatham, an 
enthusiastic admirer of the army. Nothing could have been 
mc/iT delightful to him — nothing could have harmonised so well 
with the peculiar feeling of each of his companions — as this 
sight. Accordingly they were soon a-foot, and walking in the 
direction of the scene of action, towards which crowds of people 
were already pouring, from a variety of quarters. 

The ajipearance of every thing on the lines, denoted that the 
ap})roaching ceremony was one of the utmost grandeur and im- 
portance. There were sentries posted to keep the ground for 
the troops, and servants on the batteries keeping places for the 
ladies, and sergeants running to and fro, with vellum-covered 
liooks under their arms, and Colonel Bulder, in full military 
uniform, on horseback, galloping first to one place and then to 
another, and backing his horse among the people and prancing, 
and curveting, and shouting in a most alarming manner, and 
making himself very hoarse in the voice, and very red in the 
face, without any assignable cause or reason whatever. Offi- 
cers were running backwards and forwards, first communicating 
with Colonel Bulder, and then ordering the sergeants, and then 
running away all together ; and even the very privates them- 
selves looked from behind their glazed stocks, with an air of 
mysterious solemnity, which sufficiently bespoke the special 
nature of the occasion. 

Mr. Pickwick and his three companions stationed themselves 
in the front rank of the crowd, and patiently awaited the com- 
mencement of the proceedings. The throng was increasing 
every moment ; and the efforts they were compelled to make, to 
retain the position they had gained, sufficiently occupied their 
attention during the two hours that ensued. At one time there 
was a sudden pressure from behind; and then Mr. Piekwick 
was jerked forward for several yards, with a degree of speed and 
elasticity highly inconsistent with the general gravity of his 
demeanor; at another moment there was a request to “keep 
bark” from the front, and then the butt-end of a musket was 
either dropped upon Mr. Pickwick’s toe to remind him of the ' 
demand, or thrust into his chest to ensure its being complied 
with. Theit some facetious gentleman on the left, after pressing 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


67 

sideways in a body, and squeezing Mr, Snodgrass into the Tery^ 
last extreme of human torture, would request to know “vere lie. 
yos a shovin’ to,” and when Mr. Winkle had done expressirg 
his excessive indignation at witnessing this unprovoked assault, 
some person behind would knock his hat over his eyes, and beg 
the favor of his putting his head in his pocket. These, and otlier 
])ractical witticisms, coupled with the unaccountable absence Df 
Mr. Tupman (who had suddenly disappeared, and was nowhere 
to be found), rendered their situation upon the whole rather 
more uncomfortable, than pleasing or desirable. 

At length that low roar of many voices ran through the crowd, 
which usually announces the arrival of whatever they have been 
waiting for. All eyes were turned in the direction of the sally- 
port. A fcvv moments of eager expectation, and colors were 
seen fluttering gaily in the air, arms glistened brightly in the 
sun : column after column poured on to the plain. The troops 
halted and formed; the word of command rung through the 
line, there was a general clash of muskets, as arms were pre- 
sented; and the commander-in-chief, attended by Colonel Bal- 
der and numerous officers, cantered to the front. The military 
bands struck up altogether: the horses stood upon two legs 
each, cantered backwards, and whisked their tails about in all 
directions ; the dogs barked, the mob screamed, the troops re- 
covered, and nothing was to be seen on either side, as far as the 
eye could reach, but a long prospective of red coats and white 
trousers, fixed and motionless. 

Mr. Pickwick had been so fully occupied in falling about, and 
disentangling himself, miraculously, from between the legs of 
horses, that he had not enjoyed sufficient leisure to observe the 
scene before him, until it assumed the appearance we have just 
described. When he was at last enabled to stand firmly on his 
legs, his gratification and delight were unbounded. 

“Can any thing be finer or more delightful?” he inquired of 
Mr. Winkle. 

“Nothing,” replied that gentleman, who had had a short 
man standing on each of his feet, for the quarter of an hour 
immediately preceding. 

“It is indeed a noble and a brilliant sight,” said Mr. Snod- 
grass, in wffiose bosom a blaze of poetry wms rapidly bursting 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


forth, ^‘to see the gallant defenders of their country, drawn up 
in a brilliant array before its peaceful citizens: their faces 
beaming — not with warlike ferocity, but with civilized gentle- 
ness; their eyes flashing — not with the rude fire of rapine or 
revenge, but with the soft light of humanity and intelligence.’^ 

Mr. Pickwick fully entered into the spirit of this eulogium, 
but he could not exactly re-echo its terms ; for the soft light of 
intelligence burnt rather feebly in the eyes of the warriors, bias 
much as the command “eyes front” had been given ; and all the 
spectator saw before him was several thousand pair of optics, 
staring straight forward, wholly divested of any expression 
whatever. 

“We are in a capital situation, now,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
looking round him. The crowd had gradually dispersed from 
their immediate vicinity, and they were nearly alone. 

“Capital!” echoed both Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle. 

“What are they doing now?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, ad- 
justing his spectacles. 

“I — I — rather think,” said Mr. Winkle, changing color — “1 
rather think they’re going to fire.” 

“Nonsense,” said Mr. Pickwick hastily. 

“I — I — really think they are,” urged Mr. Snodgrass, some- 
what alarmed. 

“Impossible,” replied Mr. Pickwick. He had hardly ut- 
tered the word, when the whole half dozen regiments leveled 
their muskets as if they had but one common object, and that 
object the Pickwickians ; and burst forth with the most awful 
and tremendous discharge that ever shook the earth to its centre, 
or an elderly gentleman off his. 

It was in this trying situation, exposed to a galling fire of 
blank cartridges, and harassed by the operations of the military, 
a fresh body of whom had begun to fall in, on the opposite side, 
that Mr. Pickwick displayed that perfect coolness and self-pos- 
session, which are the indispensable accompaniments of a great 
mind. He seized Mr. Winkle by the arm, and placing himself 
between that gentleman and Mr. Snodgrass, earnestly besought 
them to remember that beyond the possibility of being rendered 
deaf by the noise, there was no immediate danger to be appre- 
hended from the firing. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** But — ^but — suppose some of the men should happen to have 
ball catridges by mistake,” remonstrated Mr. Winkle, pallid at 
the supposition he was himself conjuring up. ‘‘ I heard some 
tiling whistle through the air just now — so sharp : close to my 
ear.” 

“We had better throw ourselves on our faces, hadn’t we?” 
said Mr. Snodgrass. 

“No, no — it’s over now,^’ said Mr. Pickwick. His lip 
might quiver, and his cheek might blanch, but no expression of 
fear or concern escaped the lips of that immortal man. 

Mr. Pickwick was right : the firing ceased ; but he had 
scarcely time to congratulate himself on the accuracy of his 
opinion, when a quick movement was visible in the line : the 
hoarse shout of the word of command ran along it, and before 
either of the party could form a guess at the meaning of this 
new manoeuvre, the whole of the half dozen regiments, with 
fixed bayonets, charged at double quick time down upon the 
very spot on whicli Mr. Pickwick and his friends were stationed. 

Man is but mortal ; and there is a point beyond which human 
courage cannot extend. Mr. Pickwick gazed through his spec- 
tacles for an instant on the advancing mass ; and then fairly 
turned his back and — we will not say fled ; first, because it is an 
ignoble term, and, secondly, because Mr. Pickwick’s figure was 
by no means adapted for that mode of retreat — he trotted away, 
at as quick a rate as his legs would convey him ; so quickly, in- 
deed, that he did not perceive the awkwardness of his situation, 
to the full extent, until too late. 

The opposite troops, whose falling in had perplexed Mr. 
Pickwick a few seconds before, were drawn up to repel the 
mimic attack of the sham besiegers of the citadel ; and the con- 
sequence was that Mr. Pickwick and his two companions found 
themselves suddenly inclosed between two lines of great length ; 
the one advancing at a rapid pace, and the other firmly awaiting 
the collision in hostile an’ay. 

“ Hoi 1” shouted the officers of the advancing line — 

“ Get out of the way,” cried the officers of the stationary one. 

“Where are we to go ?” screamed the agitated Pickwickians. 

“Hoi — ^hoi — hoi,” was the only reply. There was a moment 
of intense bewilderment, a heavy tramp of footsteps, a violent 


70 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


concnssion ; a smothered laugh — ^the half dozen regiments were 
half a thousand yards off; and the soles of Mr. IMckwick’s 
boots were elevated in air. 

Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle had each performed a com- 
pulsory summerset with remarkable agility, when the first object 
that met the eyes of the latter as he sat on the ground, stanch 
ing with a yellow silk handkerchief the stream of life which 
issued from his nose, was his venerated leader at some distance 
off, running after his own hat, which was gamboling playfully 
away in perspective. 

There are very few moments in a man’s existence, when he 
experiences so much ludicrous distress, or meets with so little 
charitable commiseration, as when he is in pursuit of his own 
hat. A vast deal of coolness, and a peculiar degree of judg- 
ment, are requisite in catching a hat. A man must not be pre- 
cipitate, or he runs over it : he must not rush into the opposite 
extreme, or he loses it altogether. The best way is, to keep 
gently up with the object of pursuit, to be wary and cautious, 
to watch your opportunity well, get gradually before it, then make 
a rapid dive, seize it by the crown, and stick it firmly on your 
head, smiling pleasantly all the time,, as if you thought it as 
good a joke as any body else. 

Tliere was a fine gentle wind, and Mr. Pickwick’s hat rolled 
sportively before it. The wind puffed, and Mr. Pickwick ])uffed, 
and the hat rolled over and over as meiTily as a lively porpoise 
in a strong tide ; and on it might have rolled, far beyond Mr. 
Pickwick’s reach, had not its course been providentially stO])ped 
just as that gentleman was on the point of resigning it to its 
fate. 

Mr. Pickwick, we say, was completely exhausted, and about 
to give up the chase, when the hat was blown with some violence 
against the wheel of a carriage, which was drawn np in a lino 
with half-a-dozen other vehicles, on the s])ot to which his steps 
had been directed. Mr. Pickwick, perceiving his advantaire. 
darted briskly forward, secured his property, planted it on his 
head, and paused to take breath. He had not been stationary 
half a minute, when he heard his own name eagerly pronounced 
by a voice which he at once recognised as Mr. Tupman’s, and, 





ME. PICKWICK IN CHASE OF HIS HAT, — Page /O. 









f 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


n 


looking upwards, he beheld a sight which filled him with sur- 
prise and pleasure. 

In au open barouche, the horses of which had been taken out, 
the better to accommodate it to the crowded place, stood a stout 
old gentleman, in a blue coat and bright buttons, corderoy 
breeches and top-boots, two young ladies in scarfs and feathers, 
a young gentleman, apparently enamored of one of the young 
ladies in scarfs and feathers, a lady of doubtful age, probably 
the aunt of the aforesaid, and Mr. Tupman, as easy and uncon- 
cerned as if he had belonged to the family from the first mo- 
ments of his infancy. Fastened up behind the barouche was a 
hamper of spacious dimensions — one of those hampers which 
always awakens in a contemplative mind, associations connected 
with cold fowls, tongue, and bottles of wine — and on the box 
sat a fat and red-faced boy, in a state of somnolency, whom no 
speculative observer could have regarded for an instant without 
setting down as the official dispenser of the contents of the 
before-mentioned hamper, when the proper time for their con- 
sumption should arrive. 

Mr. Pickwick had bestowed a hasty glance on these interest- 
ing oV)jects, when he was again greeted by his faithful disciple. 

“Pickwick — Pickwick,” said Mr. Tupman; “come up 
here. Make haste.” 

“ Come along. Sir. Pray, come up,” said the stout gentle- 
man. “ Joe ! — damn that boy, he’s gone to sleep again. — Joe, 
let dowm the steps.” The fat boy rolled slowdy off the box, let 
down the steps, and held the carriage-door invitingly open. 
Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle came up at the moment. 

“ Room for you all, gentlemen,” said the stout man. “ Two 
inside, and one out. Joe, make room for one of these gentle- 
men on the box. Now, Sir, come along; and the stout gentle- 
man extended his arm, and pulled first Mr. Pickwick, and tlien 
Mr. Snodgrass, into the barouche by main force. Mr. Winkle 
mounted to the box, the fat boy waddled to the same perch, 
and fell last asleep instantly. 

“ Well, gentlemen,” said the stout man, “ very glad to see 
you. Know you very well, gentlemen, though you may nt 
remember me. I spent some ev’nins at your club last winter — 
picked up my friend, Mr. Tupman here, this morning, and very 


72 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


glcd I was to see him. Well, Sir, and how are you? You do 
look uncommon well, to be sure.” 

Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment, and cordially 
shook huuds with the stout gentleman in the top-boots. 

“ Well, and how are you. Sir ?” said the stout gentleman, 
addressing Mr. Snodgrass, with paternal anxiety. “ Charm- 
ing, eh ? Well, that’s right. And how are you. Sir (to 
Air. Winkle)? Well, I am glad to hear you say you are well ; 
very glad 1 am, to be sure. My daughters, gentlemen — my 
gals, these are; and that’s my sister. Miss Rachel Wardle. 
She’s a Miss, she is ; and yet she aint a Miss — eh. Sir — eh ? ’ 
And the stout gentleman playfully inserted his elbow between 
the ribs of Mr. Pickwick, and laughed very heartily. 

“Lor, brother 1” said Aliss Wardle, with a deprecating 
smile. 

“ True, true,” said the stout gentleman ; “ no one can deny 
it. Gentlemen, I beg your pardon ; this is my friend Mr. 
Trundle. And now you all know each other, let’s be comforta- 
ble and happy, and see what’s going forward; that’s what T 
say.” So the stout gentleman put on his spectacles, and Mr. 
Pickwick pulled out his glass, and every body stood up in the 
carriage, and looked over somebody else’s shoulder at the evo- 
lutions of the military. 

Astounding evolutions they were, one rank firing over the 
heads of another rank, and then running away ; and then the 
other rank firing over the heads of another rank, and running 
away in their turn ; and then forming squares with officers in the 
centre ; and then descending the trench on one side with scaling- 
ladders, and ascending it on the other again by the same means ; 
and knocking down barricades of baskets, and behaving in the 
most gallant manner possible. Then there was such a ramming 
down of the contents of enormous guns on the battery, with 
instruments like magnified mops; such a preparation before 
they were let off, and such an awful noise wdien they did go, 
that the air resounded with the screams of ladies. The young 
Aliss Wardles were so frightened, that Air. Trundle was achially 
obliged to hold one of them up in the carriage, wdiile Air. Snod- 
grass supported the other; and Mr. Wardle’s sister suffered 
under such a dreadful state of nervous alarm, that Mr. Tupman 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


73 


found it indispensably necessary to put his arm round her waist 
to keep her up at all. Every body was excited except the fat 
boy, and he slept as soundly as if the roaring of cannon were 
his ordinary lullaby. 

“Joe, Joel’’ said the stout gentleman, when the citadel 
was taken, and the besiegers and besieged sat down to dinner. 
“ Damn that boy, he’s gone to sleep again. Be good enough 
to pinch him. Sir — in the leg, if you please ; nothing else wakes 
him — thank you. Undo the hamper, Joe.” 

The fat boy, who had been effectually roused by the com- 
pression of a portion of his leg, between the finger and thumb 
of Mr. Winkle, rolled off the box once again, and proceeded to 
unpack the hamper, with more expedition than could have been 
expected from his previous inactivity. 

“Now, we must sit close,” said the stout gentleman. After 
a great many jokes about squeezing the ladies’ sleeves, and a 
vast quantity of blushing at sundry jocose proposals that the 
ladies should sit in the gentlemen’s laps, the whole party were 
stowed down in the barouche ; and the stout gentleman pro- 
ceeded to hand the things from the fat boy (who had mounted 
up behind for the purpose), into the carriage. 

“Now, Joe, knives and forks.” The knives and forks were 
handed in, and the ladies and gentlemen inside, and Mr. 
Winkle on the box, were each furnished with those useful imple- 
ments. 

“Plates, Joe, plates.” A similar process employed in the 
distribution of the crockery. 

“Now, Joe, the fowls. Damn that boy; he’s gone to sleep 
again. Joe ! Joe I” (Sundry taps on the head with a stick, 
and the fat boy, with some difficulty, roused from his lethargy.) 
“ Come, hand in the eatables.” 

There was something in the sound of the last word, which 
roused the unctuous boy. He jumped up : and the leaden eyes, 
which twinkled behind his mountainous cheeks, leered horribly 
upon the food as he unpacked it from the basket. 

“Now, make haste,” said Mr. Wardle ; for the fat boy was 
hanging fondly over a capon, which he seemed wholly unable to 
part with. The boy sighed deeply, and bestowing an ardent 
gaze upon its plumpness, unwillingly consigned it to his master 


74 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“That’s right — ^lo)k sharp. Now the tongue — ^now the 
pigeoii-pie. Take ci.re of that veal and iiam — mind the lob- 
sters — take the salad out of the cloth — give me the diessiiig.” 
Such were the hurried orders which issued from the lips ol Mr. 
Wardle, as he handed in the different articles described, and 
placed dishes in every body’s hands, and on every body’s knees, 
in endless number. 

“Now ain’t this capital?” inquired that jolly personage, 
when the work of destruction had commenced. 

“ Capital I” said Mr. Winkle, who was carving a fowl on the 
box. 

“ Glass of wine ?” 

“ With the greatest pleasure.” 

“You’d better have a bottle to yourself, up there, hadn’t 
fou ?” 

“ You’re very good.” 

“Joel” 

- “ Yes, Sir.” (He wasn’t asleep this time, having just suc- 
ceeded in abstracting a veal patty.) 

“Bottle of wine to the gentleman on the box. Glad to see 
you. Sir.” 

“ Thankee.” Mr. Winkle emptied his glass, and placed the 
bottle on the coach-box, by his side. 

“ Will you permit me to have the pleasure. Sir ?” said Mr 
Trundle to Mr. Winkle. 

“ With great pleasure,” replied Mr. Winkle to Mr. Trundle ; 
and then the two gentlemen took wine, after which they took 
a glass of wine round, ladies and all. 

“ How dear Emily is flirting with the strange gentleman,” 
whispered the spinster aunt, with true spinster-aunt-like envy, 
to her l)rother, Mr. Wardle. 

“ Oh 1 I don’t know,” said the jolly old gentleman ; “ all 
very natural, 1 dare say — nothing unusual. Mr. Pickwick, 
some wine, Sir?” Mr. Pickwick, who had been deeply invea* 
tigating the interior of the pigeon-pie, readily assented. 

“ Emily, my dear,” said the spinster aunt, with a patronising 
air, “<lon’l talk so loud, love.” 

“ Lor, aunt I” 

“ Aunt and the little old gentleman want to have it all to 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


75 


themselves, T thi ik,” whispered Miss Isabella Wardlc to her 
sister Emily. T ie young ladies laughed very heartily, and the 
old one tried to look amiable, but couldn’t manage it. 

“ Young girls have i^iich spirits,” said Miss Wardle to Mr. 
Tiipman, with an air of gentle commiseration, as if animal 
s[)irits were contraband, and their possession without a permit, 
a high crime and misdemeanor. 

“ Oh, they have,” replied Mr. Tupraan, not exactly making 
the sort of reply that was expected from him. “It’s quite de- 
lightful” 

“ Hem I” said Miss Wardle, rather dubiously. 

“ Will you permit me,” said Mr. Tupman, in his blandest 
manner, touching the enchanting Rachel’s wrist with one hand, 
and gently elevating the bottle with the other. “Will you per- 
mit me ?” 

“Oh, Sir!” Mr. Tupman looked most impressive; and Ra- 
chel expressed her fear that more guns were going off, in which 
case, of course, she would have required sup])ort again. 

“ Do you think my dear nieces pretty ?” whispered their affec- 
Uonate aunt to Mr. Tupman. 

“ I should, if their aunt wasn’t here,” replied the ready Pick- 
wickian, with a passionate glance. 

“ Oh, you naughty man — but really, if their complexions were 
a little better, don’t you think they would be nice-looking girls 
— by candle-light !” 

“ Yes; I think they would;” said Mr. Tupman, with an air 
of indillereuce. 

“ Oh, you q)iiz — I know what you were going to say.” 

“What ?” inquired Mr. Tupman, who had not })recisely made 
up his mi!id to say any thing at all.” 

“ Yo;i were going to say that Isabella stoo})s — I know von 
were — yon men are such observers. W 11, so she does; it caji’t 
be deided ; and certainly if there’s one thing more than an'Ojier 
t!) It makes a girl look ugly, it is stooping. I often tell he.\ that 
when she gets a little older, she’ll be quite frightful. Weil, you 
are a (juiz !” 

Mr. 'rupman had no objection to earning the re])utation at 
so c. eap a rate; so he looked very knowing, and smiled myste- 
riously. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Y6 

“What a sarcastic smile,” said the admiring Rachel ; “ [ dc 
dare I’m quite afraid of you.” 

“Afraid of me !” 

“ Oh, you can’t disguise any thing from me — I know what 
that smile means, very well.” 

“What?” said Mr. Tupman, who had not the slightest no- 
ion himself. 

“You mean,” said the amiable aunt, sinking her voice still 
lower — “you mean, that you don’t think Isabella’s stooping is 
as bad as Emily’s boldness. Well, she is bold! You can’t 
think how wretched it makes me sometimes — I’m sure I cry 
about it for hours together — my dear brother is so good, and 
so unsuspicious, that he never sees it; if he did, Pm (piite 
certain it would break his heart. I wish I could tliink it 
was only manner — I hope it maybe — ” (liere the affectionate 
relative heaved a deep sigh, and shook her head despondingly.) 

“I’m sure aunt’s talking about us,” whispered Miss Emily 
Wardle to her sister — “ I’m quite certain of it, she looks so ma- 
licious.” 

“ Is she ?” replied Isabella — “ Hem I aunt, dear 1” 

“Yes, my dear love I” 

“ I’m so afraid you’ll catch cold, aunt — ^have a silk handker- 
chief to tie round your dear old head — you really should take 
care of yourself — consider your age 1” 

However well deserved this piece of retaliation might have 
been, it was as vindictive a one as could well have been resorted 
to. There is no guessing in what form of reply the aunt’s in- 
dignation would have vented itself, had not Mr. Wardle uncon- 
sciously changed the subject, by calling emphatically for Joe. 

“Damn that boy,” said the old gentleman, “he’s gone to 
sleep again.” 

“Very extraordinary boy, that,” said Mr. Pickwick, “does 
he always sleep in this way ?” 

“ Sleep 1” said the old gentleman, “he’s always asleep. Goes 
on errands fast asleep, and snores as he waits at table.” 

“ How very odd !” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Ah 1 odd indeed,” returned the old gentleman ; “ I’m proud 
of that boy — wouldn’t part with him on any account — damme. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


77 


he’s a natural curiosity! Here, Joe — Joe — take these things 
away, and open another bottle — d’ye hear 

The ftit boy rose, opened his eyes, swallowed the huge piece 
of pie he had been in the act of masticating when he last fell 
asleep, and slowly obeyed his master’s orders — gloating lan- 
guidly over the remains of the feast, as he removed the plates, 
and deposited them in the hamper. The fresh bottle was pro- 
duced, and speedily emptied ; the hamper was made fast in its 
old place — the fat boy once more mounted the box — the specta- 
cles and pocket-glass were again adjusted — and the evolutions 
of the military recommenced. There was a great fizzing and 
banging of guns, and starting of ladies — and then a mine was 
sprung, to the gratification of every body — and when the mine 
had gone off, the military and the company followed its example, 
and went off too, 

“ Now, mind,” said the old gentleman, as he shook hands 
with Mr. Pickwick, at the conclusion of a conversation which 
had been carried on at intervals, during the conclusion of the 
proceedings — “ we shall see you all to-morrow.” 

“ Most certainly,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“ You have got the address ?” 

“ Manor Farm, Dingley Dell,” said Mr. Pickwick, consult- 
ing his pocket-book. 

“ That’s it,” said the old gentleman. “I don’t let you off, 
mind, under a week ; and undertake that you shall see every 
thing worth seeing. If you’ve come down for a country life, 
come to me, and I’ll give you plenty of it. Joe — damn that 
boy, he’s gone to sleep again — Joe, help Tom put in the horses.” 

The horses were put in — the driver mounted — the fat boy 
clambered up by his side — farewells were exchanged — and the 
carriage rattled off. As the Pickwickians turned round to take 
a last glimpse of it, the setting sun cast a rich glow on the faces 
of their entertainers, and fell upon the form of the fat boy. 
His head was sunk upon his bosom ; and he slumbered again. 


CHAPTER YI. 


A SHORT ONE SHOWING, AMONG OTHER MATTERS, HOW MR. 

PICKWICK UNDERTOOK TO DRIVE, AND MR. WINKLE TO 

ride; and HOW they both did it. 

Bright and pleasant was the sky, balmy the air, and beauti- 
ful the appearance of every object around, as Mr. Pickwick 
leaned over the balustrades of Rochester Bridge, contemplating 
nature, and waiting for breakfast. The scene was indeed one, 
which might well have charmed a far less reflective mind than 
that to which it was presented. 

On the left of the spectator lay the ruined wall, broken in 
many places, and in some, overhanging the narrow beach below 
in rude and heavy masses. Huge knots of sea-weed hung upon 
the jagged and pointed stones, trembling in every breath of 
wind ; and the green ivy clung mournfully round the dark and 
ruined battlements. Behind it rose the ancient castle, its tow- 
ers roofless, and its massive walls crumbling away, but telling 
us proudly of its old might and strength, as when, so-en hun- 
dred years ago, it rang with the clash of arms, or resounded 
with the noise of feasting and revelry. On either side, the 
banks of the Medway, covered with corn-fields and pastures, 
with here and there a windmill, or a distant church, stretched 
away as far as the eye could see, presenting a rich and varied 
landscape, rendered more beautiful by the changing shadows 
which passed swiftly across it, as the thin and half-formed clouds 
skimmed away in the light of the morning sun. The river, re- 
flecting the clear blue of the sky, glistened and sparkled as it 
flowed noiselessly on ; and the oars of the fishermen dipped into 
the water with a clear and liquid sound, as their heavy but pic- 
turesque boats glided slowly down the stream. 

Mr. Pickwick was roused from the agreeable reverie into 
which he had been led by the objects before him, by a deep sigh, 

as) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


79 


and a touch on his shoulder. He turned round, and the dismal 
man was at his side. 

“ Contemplating the scene inquired the dismal man. 

“ I was,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

And congratulating yourself on being up so soon ?” 

Mr. Pickwick nodded assent. 

“ Ah I people need to rise early, to see the siin in all his 
splendor, for his brightness seldom lasts the day through. The 
morning of day and the morning of life are but too much 
alike.” 

“You speak truly, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ llow common the saying,” continued the dismal man, “ ‘ the 
morning’s too fine to last.’ How well might it be applied to 
our every-day existence. God I what would I forfeit to have 
the days of my childhood restored, or be able to forget them 
for ever I” 

“ You have seen much trouble, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, com- 
passionately. 

“I have,” said the dismal man, hurriedly; “I have. More 
than those who see me now, would believe possible.” He paused 
for an instant, and then said abruptly, 

“Did it ever strike you, on such a morning as this, that 
drowning would be happiness and peace ?” 

“ God bless me, no I” replied Mr. Pickwick, edging a little 
from the balustrade, as the possibility of the dismal man’s tip- 
ping him over, by way of experiment, occurred to him rather 
forcibly. 

“ / have thought so often,” said the dismal man, without no- 
ticing the action. “ The calm, cool water seems to me to mur- 
mur an invitation to repose and rest. A bound, a splash, a 
brief struggle ; there is an eddy for an instant, it gradually sub- 
sides into a gentle npple ; th« waters have closed above your 
head, and the world has closed upon your miseries and 
misfortunes for ever.” The sunken eye of the dismal man 
flashed brightly as he spoke, but the momentary excitement 
quickly subsided ; and he turned calmly away, as he said — 

“ There — enough of that. I wished to see you on another 
subject. You invited me to read that paper, the night before 
last, and listened attentively while I did so.” 


dO 


THE PICKWICK PAPEJg,S. 

“ 1 did,” replied Mr. Pickwick ; “ and I certainly thought — ” 
“ 1 asked for no opinion,” said the dismal man, interrupting 
him, “and I want none. You are traveling for amusement 
and instruction. Suppose I forwarded you a curious manu- 
script — observe not curious because wild or improbable, but 
curious as a leaf from the romance of real life. Would you 
communicate it to the club of which you have spoken so fre- 
quently ?” 

“ Certainly,” replied Mr. Pickwick, “ if you wished it ; and 
it would be entered on their transactions.” 

“You shall have it,” replied the dismal man. “Your ad- 
dress and Mr. Pickwick having communicated their probable 
route, the dismal man carefully noted it down in a greasy pocket- 
book, and, resisting Mr. Pickwick’s pressing invitation to break- 
fast, left that gentleman at his inn, and walked slowly away. 

Mr. Pickwick found that his three companions had risen, and 
were waiting his arrival to commence breakfast, which was ready 
laid in tempting display. They sat down to the meal ; and 
broiled ham, eggs, tea, coffee, and sundries began to disappear 
with a rapidity which at once bore testimony to the excellence 
of the fare, and the appetites of its consumers. 

“Now, about Manor Farm,” said Mr. Pickwick. “How 
shall we go ?” 

“ We had better consult the waiter, perhaps,” said Mr. Tup- 
man ; and the waiter was summoned accordingly. 

“Dingley Dell, gentlemen — fifteen miles, gentlemen — cross- 
road — post-chaise. Sir ?” 

“ Post-chaise won’t hold more than two,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

“True, Sir — beg your pardon. Sir. — Yery nice four-wheel 
chaise. Sir — seat for two behind — one in front for the gentle- 
man that drives — oh I beg your pardon. Sir — that’ll only hold 
chree.” 

“ What’s to be done ?” said Mr. Snodgrass. 

“ Perhaps one of the gentlemen like to ride. Sir,” sugg(^sted 
the waiter, looking towards Mr. Winkle ; “ very good saddle 
horr.es. Sir — any of Mr. Wardle’s men coming to Rochester, 
bring ’em back, Sir.” 


81 


TI^ PICKWICK PAPERS. 

“ The very thing,’* said Mr. Pickwick. “ Winkle, will you 
go on horseback ?” 

Now Mr. Winkle did entertain considerable misgivings in 
tlie very lowest recesses of his own heart relative lo his eques- 
trian skill ; but as he would not have them even suspected on 
any account, he at once replied with great hardihood, “ Cer* 
tainly. I should enjoy it, of all things.” 

Mr. Winkle had rushed upon his fate ; there was no re« 
source. “Let them be at the door by eleven,” said Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“ Yery well. Sir,” replied the waiter. 

The waiter retired ; the breakfast concluded ; and the travel- 
ers ascended to their respective bed-rooms tvi prepare a change 
of clothing, to take with them on their approaching expe- 
dition. 

Mr. Pickwick had made his preliminary arrangements, and 
was looking over the coffee-room blinds at the passengers in the 
street, when the waiter entered, and announced that the chaise 
was ready — an announcement which the vehicle itself con- 
firmed, by forthwith appearing before the coffee-room blinds 
aforesaid. 

It was a curious little green box on four wheels, with a low 
place like a wine-bin for two behind, and an elevated perch for 
one in front, drawn by an immense brown horse, displaying 
great symmetry of bone. An hostler stood near it, holding by 
the bridle another immense horse — apparently a near relative of 
the animal in the chaise — ready saddled for Mr. Winkle. 

“Bless my soul I” said Mr. Pickwick, as they stood upon the 
pavement, while the coats were being put in. “ Bless my soul I 
who’s to drive ? I never thought of that.” 

“ Oh I you, of course,” said Mr. Tupman. 

“ Of course,” said Mr. Snodgrass. 

“II” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 

“Not the slightest fear. Sir,” interposed the hostler. “War- 
rant him quiet, Sir ; a hinfaut in arms might drive him.” 

“ He don’t shy, does he ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Shy, Sir ? He wouldn’t shy if he was to meet a vaggin- 
load of monkeys, with their tails burnt off.” 

The last recommendation was indisputable. Mr. Tupman 
6 


63 


THE PICKWICK PAPE 




and Mr. Snodgrass got into the bin ; ^Ir. Piokwich ascended to 
his perch, and de})osited his feet on a floor-clothed snelf, erected 
beneath it for that purpose. 

“ Now, Shiny Villiam,” said the hostler to the depnty liostler, 
“give the gen’lm’n the ribbins.” “ Shiny Yilliarn” — so called, 
probably, from his sleek hair and oily countenance — })laced the 
reins in Mr. Pickwick’s left hand j and the upper hostler thrust 
a whip into his right. 

“ Woo,” cried Mr. Pickwick, as the tall quadruped evinced 
a decided inclination to back into the cotfee-room window. 

“Wo — 0,” echoed Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass, from 
the bin. 

“ Only his playfulness, gen’lm’n,” said the head hostler, 
encouragingly, “ jist kitch hold on him, Villiam.” The deputy 
restrained the animal’s impetuosity, and the principal ran to 
assist Mr. Winkle in mounting. 

“T’other side. Sir, if you please.” 

“ Plowed if the gen’lm’n wornt a gettin’ up on the wrong 
side,” whispered a grinning post-boy, to the inexpressibly grati- 
fied waiter. 

Mr. Winkle, thus instructed, climbed into his saddle, with 
about as much difficulty as he would have experienced in get- 
ting up the side of a first rate man-of-war. 

“All right?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, with an inward pre- 
sentiment that it was all wrong. 

“All right,” replied Mr. Winkle, faintly. 

“Let ’em go,” cried the hostler, — “Hold him in. Sir;” and 
away went the chaise, and the saddle horse, with j\Ir. Pickwick 
on the box of the one, and Mr. Winkle on the back of the other, 
to the delight and gratification of the whole inn-yard. 

“What makes him go sideways?” said Mr. Snodgrass in the 
bin, to Mr. Winkle in the saddle. 

“ I can’t imagine,” replied Mr. Winkle. His horse was 
going up the street in the most mysterious manner — side fir't, 
with his head towards one side of the way, and his tail lo the 
other. 

]\Ir. Pickwick had no leisure to observe either this, or any 
other particular, the whole of his faculties being concentrated in 
the management of the animal attached to the chaise, who dia 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


83 


played varioHvS peculiarities, highly interestii.g to a bystander, 
but by no means equally amusing to any one seated behind him. 
Besides coustantly jerking his head up, in a very unpleasant and 
uncomfortable manner, and tugging at the reins to an extent 
which reiidored it a matter of great difficulty for Mr. Pickwick 
to hold them, he had a singular propensity for darting suddenly 
every now and then to the side of the road, then stopping short 
and then rushing forward for some minutes, at a speed which it 
was wholly impossible to control. 

“ What can he mean by this ?” said Mr. Snodgrass, when the 
horse had executed this mancEiuTe for the twentieth time. 

‘‘I don’t know,” replied Mr. Tupman ; “ it /ooA;s Tery like 
shying, don’t it ?” Mr. Snodgrass was about to reply, when he 
was interrupted by a shout from Mr. Pickwick. 

“Woo,” said that gentleman, “ I have dropped my whip.” 

“Winkle,” cried Mr. Snodgrass, as the equestrian came trot- 
ting up on the tall horse, with his hat over his ears ; and shaking 
all over, as if he would shake to pieces, with the violence of the 
exercise, “pick up the whip, there’s a good fellow.” Mr. 
Winkle pulled at the bridle of the tall horse till he was black in 
the face ; and having at length succeeded in stopping him, dis- 
mounted, handed the whip to Mr. Pickwick, and grasping the 
reins, prepared to remount. 

Now whether the tall horse, in the natural playfulness of his 
disposition, was desirous of having a little innocent recreation 
with Mr. Winkle, or whether it occurred to him that he could 
perform the journey as much to his own satisfaction without a 
rider as with one, are points upon which, of course, we can ar- 
rive at no definite and distinct conclusion. By whatever mo- 
tives the animal was actuated, certain it is that Mr. Winkle had 
no sooner to.uched the reins, than he slipped them over his head, 
and darted backwards to their full length. 

“ Poor fellow,” said Mr. Winkle, soothingly, — “ poor fellow 
— g )od old horse.” The “poor fellow” was proof against flat- 
tery : the more Mr. Winkle tried to get nearer him, the more 
he sidled away ; and, notwithstanding all kinds of coaxing and 
wheedling, there were Mr. W'inkle and the horse going round 
and round each other for ten minutes, at the end of which time 
each was at precisely the same distance from the other as when 


84 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


they first commenced — an unsatisfactory sort of thing under any 
circumstances, but particularly so in a lonely road, where no 
assistance can be iirocured. 

“What am I to do ?” shouted ]\Ir. Winkle, after the dodging 
had been prolonged for a considerable time. “What am I to 
do ? I can’t get on him I” 

“You had better lead him till we come to a turnpike,” re- 
plied Mr. Pickwick from the chaise. 

“But he won’t come,” roared Mr. Winkle. Do come and 
hold him.” 

Mr. Pickwick was the very personation of kindness and hu- 
manity : he threw the reins on the horse’s back, and having 
descended from his seat, carefully drew the chaise into the 
hedge, lest any thing should come along the road, and stepped 
back to the assistance of his distressed companion, leaving Mr. 
Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass in the vehicle. 

The horse no sooner beheld Mr. Pickwick advancing towards 
him, with the chaise-whip in his hand, than he exchanged the 
rotary motion in which he had previously indulged, for a retro- 
grade movement of so very determined a character, that it at 
once drew Mr. Winkle, who was still at the end of the bridle, at 
a rather quicker rate than fast walking, in the direction from 
which they had just come. Mr. Pickwick ran to his assistance, 
but the faster Mr. Pickwick ran forward, the faster the horse 
ran backward. There was a great scraping of feet, and kicking 
up of the dust ; and at last Mr. Winkle, his arras being nearly 
pulled but of their sockets, fairly let go his hold. The horse 
paused, stared, shook his head, turned round, and quietly 
trotted home to Rochester, leaving Mr. Winkle and Mr. 
Pickwick gazing on each other with countenances of bland 
dismay. A rattling noise at a little distance attracted their 
attention. They looked up. 

“Bless my soul I” exclaimed the agonised Mr. Pickwick, 
“there’s the other horse running away !” 

It was but too true. The animal was startled by the noise, 
and the reins were on his back. The result may be guessed. 
He tore off with the four-wheeled chaise behind him, and Mr. 
Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass in the four-wheeled chaise. The 
heat was a short one. Mr. Tupman thiew himself into the 


THE nCKWICK PAPERS. 


85 


hedge, Mr. Snodgrass followed his example, the horse dashed 
the four-wheeled chaise against a wooden bridge, separated 
the wheels from the body, and the bin from the perch ; and 
linally stood stock still, to gaze upon the ruin he had made. 

The first care of the two unspilt friends was to extricate their 
unfortunate companions from their bed of quickset — a process 
which gave them the unspeakable satisfaction of discovering 
that they had sustained iio'iiijury, beyond sundry rents in their 
garments, and various lacerations from the brambles. The next 
thing to be done was, to unharness the horse. This complicated 
process having been effected, the party walked slowly forward, 
leading the horse among them, and abandoning the chaise to its 
fate. 

An hour’s walking brought the travelers to a little road-side 
public-house, with two elm-trees, a horse-trough, and a sign- 
post, in front ; one or two deformed hay-ricks behind, a kitchen- 
garden at the side, and rotten sheds and mouldering out-houses, 
jumbled in strange confusion, all about it. A red-headed man 
was working in the garden; and to him Mr. Pickwick called 
lustily — “ Hallo'there I” 

The red-headed man raised his body, shaded his eyes with 
his hand, and stared, long and coolly, at Mr. Pickwick and hia 
companions. 

“Hallo there I” repeated Mr. Pickwick. 

“Hallo I” was the red-headed man’s reply. 

“How far is it to Dingley Dell ?” 

“Better er seven mile.” 

“ Is it a good road ?” 

“No, t’ant.” Having uttered this brief reply, and apparently 
satisfied himself with another scrutiny, the red-headed man 
resumed his work. 

“We want to put this horse up here,” said Mr. Pickwick; “I 
suppose we can, can’t we ?” 

“Want to put that ere horse up, do ee?” repeated the red- 
headed man, leaning on his spade. 

“Of course,” replied Mr. Pickwick, who had by this time 
advanced, horse in hand, to the garden rails. 

“ Missus” — roared the man with the red head, emerging fronj 
the garden, and looking very hard sd the horse — “ Missus.” 


86 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


A tall, bony woman — straight all the way down — in a coarse 
blue [)elisse, with the waist ap inch or two below her arm-pits, 
responded to the call. 

“ Can we put this horse up here, my good woman ?” said Mr. 
Tupman, advancing, and speaking in his most seductive tones. 
The woman looked very hard at the whole party; and the red- 
headed man whispered something in her ear. 

“No,” replied the woman, after a little consideration, “Im 
ufeerd on it.” 

“Afraid !” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, “ what’s the woman afraid 
of!” 

“It got us in trouble last time,” said the woman, turning into 
the house; “I woant have nothin’ to say to ’un.” 

“ Most extraordinary thing I ever met with in my life,” said 
the astonished Mr. Pickwick. 

“ I — I — really believe,” whispered Mr. Winkle as his friendi 
gathered round him, “that they think we have come by this 
hor<ie in some dishonest manner.” 

“What!” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, in a storm of indignation. 
Mr. Winkle modestly repeated his suggestion. 

“Hallo, you fellow!” said the angry Mr. Pickwick, “do you 
think we stole this horse?” 

“ I’m sure ye did,” replied the red-headed man, with a crriii 
which agitated his countenance from one auricular organ to the 
other. Saying which, he turned into the house, and banged 
the door after him. 

“It’s like a dream,” — ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, “a hideous 
dream. The idea of a man’s walking about, all day, with a 
dreadful horse that he can’t get rid of!” The depressed J*ick- 
wickians turned moodily away, with the tall quadruped, for 
which they felt the most unmitigated disgust, following slowlv 
at their heels. 

It was late in the afternoon, when the four friends and their 
four-footed companion, turned into the lane leading to Manor 
Farm ; and even when they were so near their ])lace of destina- 
tion, the ]>leasnre they would otherwise have exjrerienced, was 
materially damped as they reflected on the singularity of their 
appearance, and the absurdity of their situation. Torn clothes, 
lacerated faces, dusty shoes, exhausted looks, and, above all. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


87 


the horse. Oh, how Mr. Pickwick cursed that horse! he had 
the noble animal from time to time with looks expressive 
of hatred and revenge; more than once he had calculated the 
ju’obable amount of the expense he would incur by cutting his 
throat; atid now the temptation to destroy him, or to cast him 
loose upon the world, rushed upon his mind with ten-fold force 
lie was roused from a meditation on these dire imaginings, by 
the sudden appearance of two figures, at a turn of the lane. It 
was Mr. Wardle, and his faithful attendant, the fat boy. 

“Wliy, where have you been?” said the hospitable old gen- 
tleman. “I’ve been waiting for you all day. Well, you do 
look tired. What! Scratches! Not hurt, I hope — eh? Well, 
I am glad to hear that — very. So you’ve been spilt, eh? 
Never mind. Common accidents in these part. Joe — damn 
that boy, he’s asleep again — Joe, take that horse from the gen- 
tleman, and lead it into the stable.” 

The fat boy sauntered heavily behind them with the animal ; 
and the old gentleman condoling with his guests in homely 
phrase, on so much of the day’s adventures as they thought 
proper to communicate, led the way to the kitchen. 

“ We’ll have you put to rights here,” said the old gentleman, 
“and then I’ll introduce you to the people in the parlor. Emma, 
bring out the cherry brandy; now, Jane, a needle and thread 
here; towels and water, Mary. Come, girls, bustle about.” 

Three or four buxom girls speedily dispersed in search of the 
diSerent articles in requisition, while a couple of large-headed, 
circular-visaged males rose from their seats in the chimney-cor- 
ner, (for although it was a May evening, their attachment to the 
wood fire appeared as cordial as if it were Christmas,) and dived 
into some obscure recesses, from which they speedily produced a 
botile of blacking, and some half-do^en- brushes. 

“Bustle,” said the old gentleman h^ain; but the admonition 
was quite unnecessary, for one of the girls poured out the cherry 
brandy, and another brought in the towel^, and one of the men 
suddenly seizing Mr. Pickwick by the leg, ahthe imminent hazard 
of throwing him off his balance, brushed a^y at his boot, till 
his corns were red-hot; while the other sham^o’d Mr. Winkle 
with a heavy clothes-brush, indulging, during the operation, in 


B8 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


that hissing sound, which hostlers are wont to produce, wb 
engaged in rubbing down a horse. 

Mr. Snodgrass, having concluded his ablutions, took a sum 
of the room, while standing with his back to the fire, sipping h. 
cherry brandy with heartfelt satisfaction. He describes it, as a 
large apartment, with a red brick floor, and a capacious chimney ; 
the ceiling garnished with hams, sides of bacon, and ropes of 
onions. The walls were decorated with several hunting-whips, 
tvvo or three bridles, a saddle, and an old rusty blunderbuss, with 
an xiscription below it, intimating that it was “Loaded” — as it 
had been, on the same authority, for half a century at least. An 
old eight-day clock, of solemn and sedate demeanor, ticked 
gravely in one corner ; and a silver watch, of equal antiquity, 
dangled from one of the many hooks which ornamented the 
dresser. 

“ Ready ?” said the old gentleman inquiringly, when his guests 
had been washed, mended, brushed, and brandied. 

“ Quite,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Come along then,” and the party having traversed several 
dark passages, and being joined by Mr. Tupman, who had lin- 
gered behind to snatch a kiss from Emma, for which he had 
been duly rewarded with sundry pushings and scratchings, arrived 
at the parlor door. 

“Welcome,” said their hospitable host, throwing it open and 
stepping forward to announce them, “Welcome, gentlemen, to 
Manor Farm.^’ 


CHAPTER 711. 


AN OIjD-FASHIONED CARD-PASTY — ^THE CLERGYMAN’S VERSES — 
THE STORY OP THE CONVICT’S RETURN. 

Several guests who were assembled iu the old parlor, rose to 
greet Mr. Pickwick and his friends upon their entrance ; and 
during the performance of the ceremony of introduction, with 
all due formalities, Mr. Pickwick had leisure to observe the 
appearance, and speculate upon the characters and pursuits, of 
the persons by whom he was surrounded — a habit in which he 
in common with many other great men delighted to indulge. 

A very old lady, in a lofty cap and faded silk gown — no less 
a personage than Mr. Wardle’s mother — occupied the post of 
honor on the right-hand corner of the chimney-piece ; and vari- 
ous certificates of her having been brought up in the way she 
should go when young, and of her not having departed from it 
when old, ornamented the walls, in the form of samplers of 
ancient date, worsted landscapes of equal antiquity, and crimson 
silk tea-kettle holders of a more modern period. The aunt, the 
two young ladies, and Mr. Wardle, each vying with the other 
in paying zealous and unremitting attentions to the old lady, 
crowded round her easy chair, one holding her ear-trumpet, an- 
other an orange, and a third a smelling-bottle, while a fourth 
was busily engaged in patting and punching the pillows, which 
were arranged for her support. On the opposite side sat a bald 
headed old gentleman, with a good-humored benevolent face — 
fhe clergyman of Dingley Dell; and next him sat his wife, a 
stout blooming old lady, who looked as if she were well skilled, 
not only in the art and mystery of manufacturing home-made 
cordials greatly to other people’s satisfaction, but of tasting them 
occasionally very much to her own. A little hard-headed Rip- 
stone pippin-faced man, was conversing with a fat old gentleman 
in one corner ; and two or three more old gentlemen, and two 
or three more old ladies, ^at bolt-upright nM motionless on 


00 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


their chairs, staring very hard at Mr Pickwick and his fellow* 
voyagers. 

“Mr. Pickwick, mother,” said Mr. Wardle, at the very top 
of his voice. 

“Ah I” said the old lady, shaking her head; “I can’t hear 
you.” 

“Mr. Pickwick, grandma!” screamed both the young ladies 
together. 

“Ah!” exclaimed the old lady. “Well; it don’t much 
matter. He don’t care for an old ’ooman like me, I dare say.” 

“1 assure you, Ma’am,” said Mr. Pickwick, grasping tlie old 
lady’s hand ; and speaking so loud that the exertion imparted a 
crimson hue to his benevolent countenance; “I assure you. 
Ma’am, that nothing delights me more, than to see a lady of 
your time of life heading so fine a family, and looking so young 
and well.” 

“Ah!” said the old lady, after a short pause; “it’s all very 
fine, 1 dare say; but I can’t hear him.” 

“Grandma’s rather put out now,” said Miss Isabella Wardle, 
in a low tone; “but she’ll talk to you presently.” 

Mr. Pickwick nodded his readiness to humor the infirmities 
of age, and entered into a general conversation with the other 
members of the circle. 

“ Delightful situation this,” said Mr. Pickwuck. 

“Delightful!” echoed Messrs. Snodgrass, Tupman and 
Winkle. 

“Well, I think it is,” said Mr. Wardle. 

“There ain’t a better spot o’ ground in all Kent, Sir,” said 
the hard-headed man with the pippin-face; “there ain’t indeed. 
Sir — I’m sure there ain’t. Sir;” and the hard-headed man looked 
triumphantly round, as if he had been very much contradicted 
Dy somebody, but had got the better of him at last. 

“There ain’t a better spot o’ ground in all Kent,” said the 
hard-headed man again, after a pause. 

“’Cept Mullins’ meadows,” observed the fat man, solemnly. 

“Mullins’ meadows!” -ejaculated the other, with profound 
contempt. 

“Ah, Mullins’ meadows,” repeated the fat man. 

“Reg’lar good land that,” interposed another fat mam 


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91 


**And so it is, sure-ly,” said a third fat man. 

“Every body knows that,” said the corpulent host. 

The hard-headed man looked dubiously round, but finding 
himself iu a minority, assumed a compassionate air, and said 
no more. 

“What are they talking about?” inquired the old lady of one 
of her grand-daughters, in a very audible voice; for, like many 
deaf people, she never seemed to calculate on the possibility of 
other persons hearing what she said herself. 

“About the land, grandma.” 

“What about the land? — Nothing the matter, is there?” 

“No, no. Mr. Miller was saying our land was better than 
Mullins’ meadows.” 

“How should he know any thing about it?” inquired the old 
lady indignantly. “Miller’s a conceited coxcomb, and you may 
tell him I said so.” Saying which, the old lady, quite uncon- 
scious that she had spoken above a whisper, drew herself up, 
and looked carving-knifes at the hard-headed delinquent. 

“Come, come,” said the bustling host, with a natural anxiety 
to change the conversation, — “What say you to a rubber, Mr. 
rick wick ?” 

“I should like it of all things,” replied that gentleman; “but 
pray don’t make up one on my account.” 

“Oil, I assure you, mother’s very fond of a rubber,” said Mr. 
Wardle; “ain’t you, mother?” 

The old lady, who was much less deaf on this subject than on 
any other, replied in the affirmative. 

“Joe, Joe,” said the old gentleman — “Joe — damn that — oh, 
here he is; put out the card-tables.” 

The lethargic youth, contrived without any additional rousing, 
tc s(^t out two card-tables; the one for Pope Joan, and the 
othei for whist. The whist-players were, Mr. Pickwick and the 
old lady; Mr. Miller and the fat gentleman. The round game 
comprised the rest of the company. 

'I'iip rubber was conducted with all that gravity of deportment, 
and sedateness of demeanor, which befit the pursuit entitled 
“whist” — a solemn observance, to which, as it appears to us, 
the title of “game” has been very irreverently and ignorainiously 
applied. The round-game table, on the other hand, was so 


92 


THE PICKWICK PAPEP.R. 


boisterously merry, as materially to interrupt the contempla'iona 
of Mr. Miller, who not being quite so much absorbed as he 
ought to have been, contrived to commit various high crimes 
and misdemeanors, which excited the wTath of the fat gentleman 
to a very great extent, and called forth the good-humor of the 
old lady in a proportionate degree. 

“There!” said the criminal Miller triumphantly, as he took 
up the odd trick at the conclusion of a hand; “that could not 
have been played better, I flatter myself; — impossible to have 
made another trick I” 

“ Miller ought to have trumped the diamond, oughtnT he, 
Sir ?” said the old lady. 

Mr. Pickwick nodded assent. 

“ Ought I, though ?” said the unfortunate, with a doubtful 
appeal to his partner. 

“ You ought. Sir,” said the fat gentleman, in an awful voice. 

“ Very^orry,” said the crest-fallen Miller. 

“ Much use that,” growled the fat gentleman. 

“ Two by honors — makes us eight,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

Another hand. “ Can you one ?” inquired the old lady. 

“ I can,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “ Double, single, and the 
rub.” 

“ Never was such luck,” said Mr. Miller. 

“ Never was such cards,” said the fat gentleman. 

A solemn silence ; Mr. Pickwick humorous, the old lady se- 
rious, the fat gentleman captious, and Mr. Miller timorous. 

“ Another double,” said the old lady : triumphantly making a 
memorandum of the circumstance, by placing one sixpence and 
a battered half-penny, under the candlestick. 

“ A double. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Quite aware of the fact. Sir,” replied the fat gentleman, 
sharply. 

Another game, with a similar result, was followed by a revoke 
from the unlucky Miller ; on which the fat gentleman burst into 
a state of high personal excitement which lasted mitil the con 
elusion of the game, when he retired into a comer, and ^‘mained 
perfectly mute for one hour and twenty-seven minutes ; at the 
end of which time, he emerged from his retirement, and offered 
Mr. Pickwick a pinch of snuff with the air of a man who had 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


made np his mind lo a Christian forgiveness of injuries sus- 
tained. The old lady’s hearing decidedly improved, and the 
unlucky Milkr felt as much out of his element as a dolphin in a 
sentry-box. 

Meanwhile the round game proceeded right merrily. Isa- 
bella Wardle and Mr. Trundle “ went partners,” and Emily 
Wardle and Mr. Snodgrass did the same ; and even Mr. Tupnian 
and the spinster aunt, established a joint-stock company of fish 
and flattery. Old Mr. Wardle was in the very height of his 
jollity ; and he was so funny in his management of the board, 
and the old ladies were so sharp after their winnings, that the 
whole table was in a perpetual roar of merriment and laughter. 
There was one old lady who always had about half a dozen 
cards to pay for, at which every body laughed, regularly every 
round ; and when the old lady looked cross at having to pay, 
they laughed louder than ever; on which the old lady’s face * 
gradually brightened up, till at last she laughed louder than 
any of them. Then, when the spinster aunt got “matrimony,” 
the young ladies laughed afresh, and the spinster a.*mt seemed 
disposed to be pettish; till, feeling Mr. Tupman squeezing 
her hand under the table, she brightened up too, and looked 
rather knowing, as if matrimony in reality were not quite so 
far off as some people thought for; whereupon everybody 
laughed again, and especially old Mr. Wardle, who enjoyed a 
joke as much as the youngest. As to Mr. Snodgrass, he did 
nothing but whisper poetical sentiments into his partner’s ear, 
which made one old gentleman facetiously sly, about partner- 
ships at cards, and partnerships for life, and caused the afore- 
said old gentleman to make some remarks thereupon, accom- 
panied with divers winks and chuckles, which made the 
company very merry, and the old gentleman’s wife especially 
so. And Mr. Winkle came out with jokes which are very 
well known in towm, but are not at all known in the country ; 
and as every body laughed at them very heartily, and said 
they were very capital, Mr. Winkle was in a state of great 
hr t.or and glory. And the benevolent clergyman looked 
pleasantly on ; for the happy faces which surrounded the table 
made the good old man feel happy too; and though the mer- 
riment was rather boisterous, still it came from the h^art and 


M 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


not from the lips; and this is the right sort of merriment, 
after all. 

The evening glided swiftly away, in these cheerful ro\*rea- 
tions; and when the substantial, though honiely sui)})er had 
been despatched, and the little party formed a social ^*ircle 
round the fire, Mr. Pickwick thought he had never lolt so 
happy in his life, and at no time so much disposed to enjoy 
and make the most of, the passing moments. 

“Now this,” said the hospitable host, who was sitting in 
great state next the old lady’s arm-chair, with her hand fast 
clasped in his — “ This is just what I like — the hap))iest mo- 
ments of my life have been passed at this old fireside ; and I 
am so attached to it, that I keep up a blazing fire here every 
evening, until it actually grows too hot to bear it. Wliy, my 
poor old mother, here, used to sit before this fireplace, upon 
that little stool, when she was a girl — didn’t you, mother ?” 

The tear which starts unbidden into the eye when the re- 
collection of old times and the happiness of many years ago, 
is suddenly recalled, stole down the old lady’s face, as she 
shook her head with a melancholy smile. 

“You must excuse my talking about this old place, Mr. 
Pickwick,” resumed the host, after a short pause — “ for I love 
it dearly, and know no other — the old houses and fields seem 
like living friends to me ; and so does our little church with the 
ivy, — about which, by the by, our excellent friend, there, made 
a song when he first came amongst us. Mr. Snodgrass, have 
you any thing in your glass ?” 

“Plenty, thank you,” replied the gentleman, whose poetic 
curiosity had been greatly excited by the last observations of 
his entertainer. “I beg your pardon, but you were talking 
about the song of the Ivy.” 

“You must ask our friend opposite about that,” said the host 
knowingly : indicating the clergyman by a nod of his head. 

“May I say that 1 should like to hear j’ou repeat it. Sir r ’ 
said Mr. Snodgrass. 

“Why, really,” replied the clergyman, “it’s a very slight 
affair; and the only excuse I have for having ever j)erpetrat(‘d 
it, is, that I was a young man at the time. Such as it is, how- 
ever, you shall hear it if you w’sh.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


U5 


A mnrmnr of curiosity was of course the reply ; and the old 
geuiiemau proceeded to recite, with tlie aid of sundry promptings 
frcm Ins wife, the lines in question. “ 1 call them,” said he, 

“ THE IVY GREEN. 

Ob, a dainty plant is the Ivy green, 

That creepeth o’er ruins old ! 

Of right choice food are his meals, I ween. 

In his cell so lone and cold. 

The wall must be crumbled, the stone decay’d, 

To pleasure his dainty whim : 

And the mouldering dust that years have made, 

Is a merry meal for him. 

Creeping where no life is seen, 

A rare old plant is the Ivy green. 

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings. 

And a staunch old heart has he. 

How closely he twdneth, how tight he clings. 

To his friend thq huge Oak Tree ! 

And slily he traileth along the ground. 

And his leaves he gently waves. 

As he joyously hugs and crawleth round 
The rich mould of dead men's graves. ' 

Creeping where grim death has been, 

A rare old plant is the Ivy green. 

Whole ages have fled and their works decay’d. 

And nations have scatter’d been ; 

But the stout old Ivy shall never fade. 

From its hale and hearty green. 

The brave old plant, in its lonely days. 

Shall fatten upon the past: 

For the statliest building man can raise 
Is the Ivy’s food at last. 

Creeping on, where time has been, 

A rare old plant is the Ivy green.” 


W liile the old gentleman repeated these lines a second time, 
to enable Mr. Snodgrass to note them down, Mr. Pickwick 
p(3riis(Ml the lineaments of his face with an expression of great 
intt'rest. The old gentleman having concluded his dieiation, 
and Mr. Snodgrass having returned his note-book to his j oeket, 
Mr Pickwick said, — 

** Excuse me, Sir, for making the remark on so short an ac- 


96 * 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


quaiiitance ; but a gentleman like yourself cannot fail, I should 
think, to have observed many scenes and incidents worth re- 
cording, in the course of your experience as a minister of tlie 
gospel.’^ 

“I have witnessed some, certainly,” replied the old gentle- 
man ; “ but the incidents and characters have been of a homely 
and ordinary nature, my sphere of action being so very lim- 
ited.” 

‘‘You did make some notes, I think, about John Edmunds, 
did you not?” inquired Mr. Wardle, who appeared very de- 
sirous to draw his friend out for the edification of his new vis- 
itors. 

The old gentleman slightly nodded his head in token of assent, 
and was proceeding to change the subject, when Mr. Pickwick 
said, — 

“ I beg your pardon, Sir ; but pray, if I may venture to in- 
quire, who was John Edmunds ?” 

“ The very thing I was about to ask,” said Mr. Snodgrass, 
eagerly. 

“You are fairly in for it,” said the jolly host. “You must 
satisfy the curiosity of these gentlemen, sooner or later ; so you 
had better take advantage of this favourable opportunity, and 
do so at once.” 

The old gentleman smiled good-humoredly as he drew his 
chair forward ; — the remainder of the party drew their chairs 
closer together, especially Mr. Tupman and the spinster aunt, 
who were possibly rather hard of hearing ; and the old lady’s 
ear-trumpet having been duly adjusted, and Mr. Miller (who 
had fallen asleep during the recital of the verses) roused from 
his slumbers by an admonitory pinch, administered beneath the 
table by his ex-pai^tner, the solemn fat man, the old gentleman, 
without further preface, commenced the following tale, to which 
we have taken the liberty of prefixing the title of 

THE CONVICT’S RETURN. 

“ When I first settled in this village,” said the old gentleman, 
“ which is now just five-and-twenty years ago, the most noto- 
rious person among my parishioners, was a mau of the name of 


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97 


Edmunds, who leased a farm near this spot. He was a morose, 
savage-hearted, bad man : idle and dissolute in his habits; cruel 
and ferocious in his disposition. Beyond the few lazy and reck- 
less vagabonds with whom he sauntered away his time in the 
fields, or sotted in the ale-house, he had not a single friend or ac- 
quaintance ; no one cared to speak to the man whom many feared, 
and every one detested — and Edmunds was shunned by all. 

“ This man had a wife and one son, who, when I first came 
here, was about twelve years old. Of the acuteness of that wo- 
man’s sufferings, of the gentle and enduring manner in which 
she bore them, of the agony of solicitude with which she reared 
that boy, no one can form an adequate conception. Heaven 
forgive me the supposition, if it be an uncharitable one, but I 
do firmly and in my soul believe, that the man systematically 
tried for many years to break her heart ; but she bore it all for 
her child’s sake, and, however strange it may seem to many, for 
his father’s too ; for brute as he was, and cruelly as he treated 
her, she had loved him once ; and the recollection of what he 
had been to her, awakened feelings of forbearance and meekness 
under suffering in her bosom, to which all God’s creatures, but 
women, are strangers. 

“ They were poor — they could not be otherwise when the 
man pursued such courses ; but the woman’s unceasing and un- 
wearied exertions, early and late, morning, noon, and night, kept 
them above actual want. Those exertions werA but ill-repaid. 
People who passed the spot in the evening — sv^metimes at a late 
hour of the night — reported that they heard the moans and sobs 
of a woman in distress, and the sound of blows : and more 
than once, when it was past midnight, the boy knocked softly 
at the door of a neighbor’s house, whither he had been sent to 
escape the drunken fury of his unnatural father. 

“ During the whole of this time, and when the poor creature 
often bore about her marks of ill usage and violence which she 
could not wholly conceal, she was a constant attendant at our 
little church, llcgularly every Sunday, morning and afternoon, 
she occupied the same seat, with the boy at her side ; and though 
they were both poorly dressed — much more so than many of 
their neighbors who were in a lower station — they were always 
ueat and cleau. Every pne had a friendly nod and a kind word 
7 


98 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


for ‘poor Mrs. Edmunds;’ and sometimes, when she stopped to 
exchange a few words with a neighbor at the conclusion of the 
service, in the little row of elm trees which leads to the clnirch 
porch, or lingered behind to gaze with a mother’s pride and 
fondness upon her healthy boy, as he sported before her with 
some little companions, her care-worn face would lighten up with 
an expression of heartfelt gratitude ; and she would look, if not 
ciieerful and happy, at least tranquil and contented. 

“ Five or six years passed away ; the boy had become a robust 
and well-grown youth. The time that had strengrthened the 
child’s slight frame and knit his weak limbs into the strength of 
manhood, had bowed his mother’s form, and enfeebled her steps ; 
but the arm that should have supported her was no longer locked 
in hers ; the face that should have cheered her, no more looked 
upon her own. She occupied her old seat, but there was a va- 
cant one beside her. The Bible was kept as carefully as ever, 
the places were found and folded down as they used to be : but 
there was no one to read it with her ; and the tears fell thick 
and fast upon the book, and blotted the words from her eyes. 
Neighbors were as kind as they were wont to be of old, but she 
shunned their greetings with averted head. There was .10 lin- 
gering among the old elm-trees now — no cheering anticipations 
of happiness yet in store. The desolate woman drew her bon- 
net closer over her face, and walked hurriedly away. 

“ Shall I tell you, that the young man, who, looking back to 
the earliest of his childhood’s days to which memory and con- 
sciousness extended, and carrying his recollection do\\Ti to that 
moment, could remember nothing which was not in some way 
connected with a long series of voluntary privation suffered by 
Ills mother for his sake, with ill usage, and insult, and violence, 
and all endured for him ; — shall I tell you, that he, with a reck- 
less disregard of her breaking heart, and a sullen wilful forget- 
fulness of all she had done and borne for him, had linked him- 
self with depraved and abandoned men, and was madly pursuing 
a headlong career, which must bring death to him, and shame 
to her ? Alas for human nature I You have anticipated it long 
since. 

“ The measure of the unhappy woman’s misery and misfor- 
tune was about to be completed. Numerous offences had been 


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99 


committed in the neighborhood ; the perpetrators remained nn- 
discovered, and their boldness increased. A robbery of a daring 
and aggravated nature occasioned a vigilance of pursuit, and a 
strictness of search, they had not calculated on. Young Ed- 
munds was sus])ected, with three companions. He was appre- 
hejided — committed — tried — condemned — to die. 

“Tlie wild and piercing shriek from a woman’s voice, which 
resounded through the court when the solemn sentence w'as pro- 
nounced, rings in my ears at this moment. That cry struck a 
terror to the culprit’s heart, which trial, condemnation — the 
approach of death itself had failed to aw’aken. The lips w hich 
had been compressed in dogged sullenness throughout, cpiivered 
and parted involuntarily ; the face turned ashy pale as the cold 
perspiration broke forth from every pore ; the sturdy limbs of 
the felon trembled, and he staggered in the dock. 

In the first transports of her mental anguish, the suffering 
mother threw herself upon her knees at my feet, and fervently 
besought the Almighty Being who had hitherto supported, her 
in all her troubles, to release her from a world of w'oe and 
misery, and to spare the life of her only child. A burst of 
grief, and a violent struggle, such as I hope I may never have 
to witness again, succeeded. I knew that her heart w^as break- 
ing from that hour ; but I never once heard complaint or mur- 
mur escape her li])s. 

“ It was a piteous spectacle to see that w'oman in the prison- 
yard from day to day, eagerly and fervently attempting, by 
affection and entreaty, to soften the hard heart of her obdurate 
son. It was in vain. He remained moody, obstinate, and un- 
moved. Not even the unlooked-for commutation of his sen- 
tence to transportation for fourteen years, softened for an 
instant the sullen hardihood of his demeanor. 

“But the spirit of resignation and endurance that had so 
long upheld her, was unable to contend against bodily w’cakness 
and infirmity. She fell sick. She dragged her tottering limbs 
from the bed to visit her son once more, but her strength failed 
her, and she sunk powerless on the ground. 

“ And now' the boasted coldness and indifference of the young 
man w'ere tested indeed ; and the retribution that fell heavily 
upon him, nearly drove him mad. A day passed away, and hig 


00 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


mother was not there; another flew by, and she came not near 
him; a third evening arrived, and yet he had not seen Ikt: and 
ill four-and-twenty hours, he was to be separated from her — ■ 
perhaps for ever. Oh I how the long-forgotten thoiiglits of 
former days rushed upon his mind, as he almost ran uj> ard 
down the narrow yard — as if intelligence would arrive the 
sooner, for his hurrying — and how bitterly a sense of his help- 
lessness and desolation rushed upon him, when he heard the 
truth I Ilis mother, the only parent he had ever known, lay ill 
- — it might be dying — within one mile of the ground he stood 
on : were he free and unfettered, a few minutes would 'place him 
by her side. lie rushed to the gate, and, grasping the iron 
rails with the energy of desperation, shook it till it rang again, 
and threw himself against the thick wall as if to force a passage 
through the stone ; but the strong building mocked his feeble 
eflbrts, and he beat his hands together and wept like a child. 

“ 1 bore the mother’s forgiveness and blessing to her son in 
prison ; and I carried his solemn assurance of repentance, and 
his fervent supplication for pardon, to her sick bed. I heard, 
with pity and compassion, the repentant man devise a thousand 
little plans for her comfort and support, when he returned ; but 
I knew that many months before he cculd reach his place of 
destination, his mother would be no longer of this world. 

“ He was removed by night. A few weeks afterwards the 
poor woman’s soul took its flight, I confidently hope, and 
solemnly believe, to a place of eternal happiness and rest. I 
performed the burial service over her remains. She lies in our 
little church-yard. There is no stone at her grave’s head. 
Her sorrows were known to man ; her virtues to God. 

“It had been arranged previously to the convict’s departure, 
that he should write to his mother so soon as he could obtain 
permis.sion, and that the letter should be addressed to me. The 
father had positively refused to see his son from the moment of his 
apprehension ; and it was a matter of indifference to him whether 
he lived or died. Many years passed over without any intelli- 
gence of him ; and wlien more than half his term of transporta- 
tion had expired, and I had received no letter, I concluded him 
to be dead, as, indeed, I almost hoped he might be. 

** Edmunds, however, had been sent a considerable distance 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


101 


up tlie country on his arrival at the settlement; and to this cir- 
cumstance, perhaps, may be attributed the fact, that, though 
several letters were despatched, none of them ever reached my 
hands. lie remained in the same place during the whole four- 
teen years. At the expiration of the term, steadily adhering 
to his old resolution, and the pledge he gave his mother, he 
made his way back to England, amidst innumerable dilficullies, 
and returned, on foot, to his native place. 

“ Chi a tine Sunday evening, in the month of August, John 
Edmunds set foot in the village he had left with shame and dis- 
grece seventeen years before. His nearest way lay through the 
church-yard. The man’s heart swelled as he crossed the stile. 
The tall old elms, through whose branches the declining sun 
cast here and there a rich ray of light upon the shadowy path, 
awakened the associations of his earliest days. He pictured 
himself as he was then, clinging to his mother’s hand, and walk- 
ing peacefully to church. He remembered how he used to look 
up into her pale face; and how her eyes would sometimes fill 
with tears as she gazed upon his features — tears which fell hot 
upon his forehead .as she stooped to kiss him, and made him 
weep too, although he little knew then what bitter tears hers 
were. He thought how often he had run merrily down that 
path with some childish play-fellow, looking back ever and 
again to catch his mother’s smile, or hear her gentle voice; and 
then a veil seemed lifted from his memory, and words of kind- 
ness unrequited, and warnings despised, and promises broken, 
thronged upon his recollection, till his heart failed him, and ho 
could bear it no longer. 

“ He entered the church. The evening service was concluded 
and the congregation had dispersed, but it was not yet closed. 
His steps echoed through the low building with a hollow sound, 
and he ahmost feared to be alone, it was so still and quiet. He 
looked round him. Nothing was changed. The p.ace seemed 
smaller than it used to be ; but there were the old monuments 
on which he had gazed with childish awe a thousand times ; the 
little pulpit with its faded cushion ; the communion table, be- 
fore which he had so often repeated the commandments he had 
reverenced as a child, and forgotten as a man. He approached 
the old seat ; it looked cold and desolate. The cushion had 


102 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


been removed, and the Bible was not there. Perhaps his mother 
now occupied a poorer seat, or possibly she had grown infirm 
and could not reach the church alone. He dared not thinh 
of what he feared. A cold feeling crept over him, and he trem- 
bled violently as he turned away. 

“ An old man entered the porch just as he reached it. Ed- 
munds started back, for he knew him well ; many a time had lie 
watched him digging graves in the church-yard. What would 
he say to the returned convict ? The old man raised his eyes 
to the stranger’s face, bid him ‘good evening,’ and walked 
slowly on. He had forgotten him. 

“ He walked down the hill, and through the village. The 
weather was warm, and the people were sitting at their doors, 
or strolling in their little gardens as he passed, enjoying the 
serenity of the evening, and their rest from labor. Many a 
look was turned towards him, and many a doubtful glance be 
cast on either side to see whether any knew and shunned him. 
There were strange faces in almost every house ; in some he 
recognised the burly form of some old schoolfellow — a boy 
when he last saw him — surrounded by a troop of merry chil- 
dren ; in others he saw, seated in an easy-chair at the cottage- 
door, a feeble and infirm old man, whom he only remembered 
as a hale and hearty laborer ; but they had all forgotten him, 
and he passed on unknown. 

“ The last soft light of the setting sun has fallen on the earth, 
casting a rich glow on the yellow corn-sheaves, and lengthening 
the shadows of the orchard trees, as he stood before the old 
house — the home of his infancy, to which his heart had yearned 
with an intensity of affection not to be described, through long 
and weary years of captivity and sorrow. The paling was low, 
though he well remembered the time, when it had seemed a 
high wall to him ; and he looked over into the old garden 
There were more weeds and gayer flowers than there used to 
be, Imt there were the old trees still — the very tree, under which 
he had lain a thousand times when tired tvith playing in the 
sun, and felt the soft mild sleep of happy boyhood steal gently 
uj>on him. There were voices within the house. He listened, 
but they fell strangely upon his ear; he knew them not. They 
were merry too ; and he well knew that his poor old mother 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


108 


could not be cheerful, and be away. The door opened, and a 
group of little children bounded out, shouting and romping 
The father, with a little boy in his arras, appeared at the door, 
and they crowded round him, clapping their tiny hands, and 
dragging him out, to join their joyous sports. The convict 
thought on the many times he had shrunk from his father’s 
sight in that very place. He remembered how often he had 
buried his trembling head beneath the bed-clothes, and heard 
the harsh word, and the hard stripe, and his mother’s wailing ; 
and though the man sobbed aloud with agony of mind as he 
left the spot, his fist was clenched, and his teeth were set, in 
fierce and deadly passion. 

“ And such was the return to which he had looked through 
the weary perspective of many years, and for which he had 
undergone so much suffering. No face of welcome, no look of 
forgiveness, no house to receive, no hand to help him — and this 
too in the old village. What was his loneliness in the wild 
thick woods, where man was never seen, to this I 

“ He felt that in the distant land of his bondage and infamy, 
he had thought of his native place as it was when he left it ; — 
not as it would be, when he returned. The sad reality struck 
coldly at his heart, and his spirit sank within him. He had 
not courage to make incpiiries, or to present himself to the only 
person who was likely to receive him with kindness and compas- 
sion. He walked slowly on ; and shunning the road-side like 
a guilty man, turned into a meadow he well remembered ; and 
covering his face with his hands, threw himself upon the 
grass. 

He had not observed that a man was lying on the bank be- 
side him ; his garments rustled as he turned round to steal a look 
at the new comer : and Edmunds raised his head. 

“ The man had moved into a sitting posture. His body wae 
much bent, and his face was wrinkled and yellow. His dress de- 
noted him an inmate of the workhouse ; he had the appearance 
of beijig very old, but it looked more the effect of dissipation oi 
disease, than the length of years. He was staring hard at the 
st ranger, and though his eyes were lustreless and heavy at first, 
they apjieared to glow with an unnatural and alarmed expression 
after they had been fixed upon him for a short time, until they 


104 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


seemed to he starting from their sockets. Edmunds gradually 
raised himself to his knees, and looked more and more earnestly 
U})oii the old mail’s face. They gazed upon each other in 
silence. 

“ Tne old man was ghastly pale. He shuddered and tottered 
to his feet. Edmunds sprang to his. He stepped back a pace 
or two. Edmunds advanced. 

“ ‘ Let me hear you speak,’ said the convict in a thick, broken 
voice. 

“ ‘ Stand off,’ cried the old man with a dreadful oath. The 
convict drew closer to him. 

“ ‘ Stand oflf,’ shrieked the old man. Furious with terror he 
raised his stick, and struck Edmunds a heavy blow across the 
face. 

“ ‘ Father — devil,’ murmured the convict, between his set 
teeth. He rushed wildly forward, and clenched the old man by 
the throat — ^but he was his father ; and his arm fell powerless 
by his side. 

“ The old man uttered a loud yell, which rang through the 
lonely fields like the howl of an evil spirit. His face turned 
black ; the gore rushed from his mouth and nose, and dyed the 
grass a deep dark red, as he staggered and fell. He had ruptured 
a blood-vessel : and he was a dead man before his son could raise 
him from that thick sluggish pool. 

♦ ♦ ♦ * ♦ ♦ 

“In that corner of the church-yard,” said the old gentleman, 
after a silence of a few moments, “ in that corner of the church- 
yard of which I have before spoken, there lies buried a man 
who was in ray employment for three years after this event ; and 
who was truly contrite, penitent, and humbled, if ever man was. 
No one save myself knew in that man’s lifetime who he was, or 
whence he came ; — it was John Edmunds, the returned convict.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


HOW ME. WI XKLE, INSTEAD OF SHOOTING AT THE PIGEON AND 
KILLING THE CROW, SHOT AT THE CROW AND WOUNDED THE 
PIGEON ; HOW THE DINGLEY DELL CRICKET CLUB PLAYED 
ALL-MUGGLETON, AND HOW ALL-MUGGLETON DINED AT THE 
DINGLEY DELL EXPENSE : WITH OTHER INTERESTING AND IN- 
STRUCTIVE MATTERS. 

The fatiguing adventures of the day or the somniferous in- 
fluence of the clergyman’s tale, operated so strongly on the 
drowsy tendencies of Mr. Pickwick, that, in less than five 
minutes after he had been shown to his comfortable bedroom, 
he fell into a sound and dreamless sleep, from which he was 
only awakened by the morning sun darting his bright beams 
reproachfully into the apartment. Mr. Pickwick was no slug- 
gard ; and he sprang like an ardent warrior from his tent — 
bedstead. 

“ Pleasant, pleasant country,” sighed the enthusiastic gentle- 
man, as he opened his lattice window. “ Who could liv® to 
gaze from day to day on bricks and slates, who had once felt 
the influence of a scene like this ? Who could continue to exist 
where there are no cows but the cows on the chimney-pots ; 
nothing redolent of Pan but pantiles ; no crop but stone-crop ? 
Who could bear to drag out a life in such a spot ? Who, ] 
ask, could endure it?” and, having cross-examined solitude 
after the most approved precedents, at considerable length, 
Mr. Pickwick thrust his head out of the lattice, and looked 
around him. 

The rich, sweet smell of the hay-ricks rose to his chamber 
window ; the hundred perfumers of the little flower-gardeu 
beneath scented the air around ; the deep-green meiulows 
shone in the morning dew that glistened on every leaf as it 
trembled in the morning air ; and the birds sang as if every 

( 105 ) 


106 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


sparkling drop were to them a fountain of inspiration. Mr. 
Pickwick fell into an enchanting and delicious reverie. 

“ Hallo I’’ ^^as the sound that roused him. 

He looked to the right, but he saw nobody ; his eyes wan- 
dered to the left, and pierced the prospect ; he stared into 
the sky, but he wasn’t wanted there ; and then he did what a 
common mind would have done at once — looked into the gar- 
den, and there saw Mr. Wardle. 

“ How are you?” said that good-humored individual, out 
of breath with his own anticipations of pleasure. “ Beautiful 
morning, ain’t it ? Glad to see you up so early. Make haste 
down, and come out. I’ll wait for you here.” 

Mr. Pickwick needed no second invitation. Ten minutes 
sufficed for the completion of his toilet, and at the expiration 
of that time he was by the old gentleman’s side. 

“Hallo I” said Mr. Pickwick in his turn: seeing that his 
companion was armed with a gun, and that another lay ready 
on the grass. “What’s going forward?” 

“Why, your friend and I,” replied the host, “are going out 
rook-shooting before breakfast. He’s a very good shot, ain’t 
he?” 

“I’ve heard him say he’s a capital one,” replied Mr. Pick- 
wick; “but I never saw him aim at any thing.” 

“Well,” said the host, “I wish he’d come. Joe — Joe!” 

The fat boy, who under the exciting influence of the morning 
did not appear to be more than three parts and a fraction asleep, 
emerged from the house. 

“Go up, and call the gentleman, and tell him he’ll find me 
and Mr. Pickwick in the rookery. Show the gentleman the 
way there; d’ye hear?” 

The boy departed to execute his commission ; and the host, 
carrying both guns like a second Robinson Crusoe, led the vhy 
from the garden. 

“This is the place,” said the old genticman, pausing after a 
few minutes’ walking, in an avenue of trees. The inform atic.u 
was unnecessary; for the incessant cawing of the unconscious 
rooks, sufficiently indicated there whereabout. 

The old gentleman laid ^ue gun on the ground and loaded the 
other. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


107 


“Here they are,’^ said Mr. Pickwick; and ns he spoke, the 
forms of Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and Air. Winkle ap- 
peared in the distance. The fat boy, not being quite cenain 
which gentleman he was directed to call, had with peculiar 
sagacity, and to prevent the possibility of any mistake, called 
them all. 

“ Come along,” shouted the old gentlemen, addressing Mr 
Winkle; “a keen hand like you ought to have been up long 
ago, even to such poor work as this.” 

Air. Winkle responded w'ith a forced smile, and took up the 
spare gun with an expression of countenance which a meta- 
physical rook, impressed with a foreboding of his approaching 
death by violence, may be supposed to assume. It might have 
been keenness, but it looked remarkably like misery. 

The old gentleman nodded; and two ragged boys who had 
been marshaled to the spot under the direction of the infant 
Lambert, forthwith commenced climbing up two of the trees. 

“ What are those lads for?” inquired Air. Pickwick, abruptly. 
He was rather alarmed ; for he was not quite certain but that 
the distress of the agricultural interest* about which he had 
often heard a great deal, might have com})elled the small boys, 
attached to the soil, to earn a precarious and hazardous subsist- 
tnce ))y making marks of themselves for inexperienced sportsmen. 

'‘Only to start the game,” replied Air. Wardle, laughing. 

“ To what ?” inquired Air. Pickwick. 

“Why, in plain English, to frighten the rooks.” 

“ Oh ! Is that all ?” 

“ You are satisfied ?” 

“ Quite.” 

“Very well. Shall I begin?” 

“ If you please,” said Mr. Winkle, glad of any respite. 

“Stand aside, then. Now for it.” 

'Tlie boy shouted, and shook a branch with a nest on it 
li ilfa dozen young rooks in violent conversation, flew out to' 
iisk wluit the matter was. The old gentleman fired by way 
o1 rc’dy. Down fell one bird, and oil’ flew the others. 

“Take him up, Joe,” said the old gentleman. 

Tiiere was a smile upon the youth’s face as he advanced. 
Indistinct visions of rook-pie floated through his imagination. 


108 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


He laughed as he retired with the bird — it was a plump 
one. 

'‘Xow, Mr. Winkle,” said the host, reloading his own gun, 
*'fire away.” 

Mr. Winkle advanced, and leveled his gun. Mr. Pickwick 
and his friends cowered involuntarily to escape damage from 
the heavy fall of rooks, which they felt quite certain would 
be occasioned by the devastating barrel of their friend. 

There was a solemn pause — a shout — a flapping of wings — 
a faint click. 

“Hallo!” said the old gentleman. 

“Won’t it go?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“Missed fire,” said Mr. Winkle, who was very pale, prob- 
ably from disappointment. 

“Odd,” said the old gentleman, taking the gun. “Never 
knew one of them miss fire before. Why I don’t see any 
thing of the cap.” 

“Bless my soul,” said Mr. Winkle. “I declare I forgot 
the cap!” 

The slight omissioti was rectified. Mr. Pickwick crouched 
again. Mr. Winkle stepped forward with an air of determi- 
nation and resolution; and Mr. Tupman looked out from 
behind a tree. The boy shouted; — four birds flew out. Mr. 
Winkle fired. There was a scream as of an individual — not a 
rook — in corporeal anguish. Mr. Tupman had saved the 
lives of innumerable unoffending birds, by receiving a portion 
of the charge in his left arm. 

To describe the confusion that ensued would be impossible. 
To tell how Mr. Pickwick in the first transports of his emo- 
tion called Mr. Winkle “Wretch!” how Mr. Tupman lay 
prostrate on the ground ; and how Mr. Winkle knelt horror- 
stricken beside him; how Mr. Tupman called distractedly 
upon some feminine Christian name, and then opened first 
* one eye, and then the other, and then fell back and shut them 
both; — all this would be as difficult to describe in detail, as it 
would be to depict the gradual recovering of the unfortunate 
individual, the binding up his arm with pocket-handkerchiefs, 
and the conveying him back by slow degrees supported by 
the arms of his anxious friends. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


109 


They drew near the house. The ladies were at the garden- 
gate, waiting for their arrival and their breakfast. The spinster 
aunt appeared; she smiled, and beckoned them to walk quicker. 
’Twas evident she knew not of the disaster. Poor thing 1 There 
are times wlien ignorance is bliss indeed. 

They approached nearer. 

“ Why, what is the matter with the little old gentleman 
said Isabella W ardle. The spinster aunt heeded not the remark ; 
she thought it applied to Mr. Pickwick. In her eyes Tracy 
Tupman was a youth; she viewed his years through a diminish- 
ing glass. 

“Don’t be frightened,” called out the old host, fearful of 
alarming his daughters. The little party had crowded so com- 
pletely round Mr. Tupman, that they could not yet clearly dis- 
cern the nature of the accident. 

“ Don’t be frightened,” said the host. 

“ What’s the matter ?” screamed the ladies. 

“ Mr. Tupman has met with a little accident; that’s all.” 

The spinster aunt uttered a piercing scream, burst into an 
hysteric laugh, and fell backwards into the arms of her nieces. 

“ Throw some cold water over her,” said the old gentleman. 

“No, no,” murmured the spinster aunt*,. “I am better now. 
Bella. Emily — a surgeon I Is he wounded ? — Is he dead ? — Is 

he ha, ha, ha I” Here the spinster aunt burst into fit number 

two, of hysteric laughter, interspersed with screams. 

“ Calm yourself,” said Mr. Tupman, aftected almost to tears 
by this expression of sympathy with his sufferings. “ Dear, 
dear madam, calm yourself.” 

“ It is his voice I” exclaimed the spinster aunt ; and strong 
symptoms of fit number three developed themselves forth- 
with. 

“Do not agitate yourself, I entreat you, dearest madam,” 
said Mr. Tupman, soothingly. “ I am very little hurt, I as- 
sure you.” 

“ Tlien you are not dead 1” ejaculated the hysterical lady. 
“ Oh say you are not dead !” 

“ Don’t be a fool, Rachel,” interposed Mr. Wardle, rather 
more roughly than was quite consistent with the poetic nature 


110 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


of the scene. What the devil’s the use of his saying he isn’t 
dead ?” 

“No, no, I am not,” said Mr. Tupman. “1 require no as- 
sistance but yours. Let me lean on your arm,” he added in a 
whisper, “ Oh Miss Rachel I” The agitated female advanced, 
and offered her arm. They turned into the breakfast parlor. 
Mr. Tracy Tupman gently pressed her hand to his lips, and 
sank upon the sofa. 

“ Are you faint ?” inquired the anxious Rachel. 

“No,” said Mr. Tupman. “It is nothing. I shall be bet- 
ter presently.” He closed his eyes. 

“ He sleeps,” murmured the spinster aunt. (His organs of 
vision had been closed nearly twenty seconds). “ Dear — 
dear — Mr. Tupman.” 

Mr. Tupman jumped up — “ Oh, say those words again I” 
he exclaimed. 

The lady started. “ Surely you did not hear them I” she 
said, bashfully. 

“ Oh yes I did I” replied Mr. Tupman, “ repeat them. If 
you would have me recover, repeat them. ” 

“ Hush I” said the lady. “ My brother.” 

Mr. Tracy Tupman resumed his former position ; and Mr. 
Wardle, accompanied by a surgeon, entered the room. 

The arm was examined, the wound dressed, and pronounced 
to be a very slight one ; and the minds of the company having 
been thus satisfied, they proceeded to satisfy their appetites 
with countenances to which an expression of cheerfulness was 
again restored. Mr. Pickwick alone was silent and reserved. 
Doubt and distrust were exhibited in his countenance. His 
confidence in Mr. Winkle had been shaken — greatly shaken — 
by the proceedings of the morning. 

“Are you a ci^icketer ?” inquired Mr. Wardle of the marks- 
man. 

At any other time Mr. Winkle would have replied in the 
affirmative. He felt the delicacy of his situation, and modestly 
replied “No.” 

“ Are you. Sir ?” inquired Mr. Snodgrass. 

“ I was once upon a time,” replied the host j “ but I have 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Ill 


given it up now. I subscribe to the club here, but I don^t 
play.” 

“ The grand match is played to-day, I believe,” said Mr. 
Pickwick. 

It is,” replied the host. “ Of course you would like to 
see it.” 

“ I, Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick, “ am delighted to view any 
sports which may be safely indulged in, and in which the im- 
potent efforts of unskilful people do not endanger human life.” 
Mr. Pickwick paused, and looked steadily on Mr. Winkle, who 
quailed beneath his leader’s searching glance. The great man 
withdrew his eyes after a few minutes, and added : “ Shall we 
be justified in leaving our wounded friend to the care of the 
ladies ?” 

“You cannot leave me in better hands,” said Mr. Tupman. 

“Quite impossible,” said Mr. Snodgrass. 

It was therefore settled that Mr. Tupman should be left at 
home in charge of the females ; and that the remainder of the 
guests under the guidance of Mr. W ardle should proceed to the 
spot, where was to be held that trial of skill, which had roused 
A.ll-Muggleton from its torpor, and inoculated Dingley Dell with 
a fever of excitement. 

As their walk, which was not above two miles long, lay 
through shady lanes, and sequestered footpaths; and as their 
conversation turned upon the delightful scenery by which they 
were on every side surrounded, Mr. Pickwick was almost inclined 
to regret the expedition they had used, when he found himself 
in the main street of the town of Muggleton. 

Every body whose genius has a topographical bent, knows 
perfectly well, that Muggleton is a corporate town, with a 
mayor, burgesses, and freemen; and any body who has con- 
sulted the addresses of the mayor to the freemen, or the freemen 
to the mayor, or both to the corporation, or all three to Parlia- 
ment, will learn from thence what they ought to have known 
before, that Muggleton is an ancient and loyal borough, mingling 
a zealous advocacy of Christian principles with a devoted attach- 
ment to commercial rights ; in demonstration whereof, the mayor, 
corporation, and other inhabitants, have presented, at divers 
times, no fewer than one thousand four hundred and twe’’*^ 


112 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


petitions against the continuance of negro slavery abroad, atd an 
equal number against any interference with the factory system at 
home ; sixty-eight for permitting the sale of benefices in the church, 
and eighty-six for abolishing Sunday trading in the streets. 

Mr. Pickwick stood in the principal street of this illustrioua 
town, and gazed with air of curiosity not unmixed with interest, 
on the objects around him. There was an open square for the 
market-place ; and in the centre of it, a large inn, with a sign- 
post in front, displaying an object very common in art, but 
rarely met with in nature — to wit, a blue lion with three bow- 
legs in the air, balancing himself on the extreme point of the 
centre claw of his fourth foot. There were, within sight, an 
auctioneer’s and fire-agency office, a corn-factor’s, a linen-dra- 
per’s, a saddler’s, a distiller’s, a grocer’s, and a shoe-shop — the 
last-mentioned warehouse being also appropriated to the diffu- 
sion of hats, bonnets, wearing apparel, cotton umbrellas and 
useful knowledge. There was a red brick house with a small 
paved court-yard in front, which any body might have known 
belonged to the attorney : and there was, moreover, another red 
brick house with Yenitian blinds, and a large brass door-plate, 
with a very legible announcement that it belonged to the sur- 
geon. A few boys were making their way to tlie cricket-field ; 
and two or three shopkeepers who were standing at their doors, 
looked as if they should like to be making their way to the 
same spot, as indeed to all appearance they might have done,^ 
without losing any great amount of custom thereby. Mr. Pick- 
wick having paused to make these observations, to be noted 
down at a more convenient period, hastened to rejoin his friends, 
who had turned out of the main street, and were already within 
sight of the field of battle. 

The wickets were pitched, and so were a couple of marquees 
for the rest and refreshment of the contending parties. The 
game had not yet commenced. Two or three Dingley-Dellers, 
and All-Muggletonians, were amusing themselves with a majestic 
air by throwing the ball carelessly from hand to hand; and 
several other gentlemen, dressed like them, in straw hats, flannel 
jackets, and white trousers, — a costume in which tliey looked 
rery much like amateur stone-masons, nece sprinkled about the 
tents, towards one of which Mr. Wardle conducted the party. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


lU 


‘^Several dozens of “ Ilow-are-you’s hailed the old gentle- 
man’s arrival; and a general raising of the straw hats and bend- 
ing forward of the flannel jackets, followed his introduction of 
his guests as gentlemen from London, who were extremely 
anxious to witness the proceedings of the day, with which, he 
had no doubt, they would be greatly delighted. 

“You had better step into the marquee, I think. Sir,” said 
one very stout gentleman, whose body and legs looked like half a 
gigantic roll of flannel, elevated on a couple of inflated pillow- 
cases. 

“ You’ll find it much pleasanter, Sir,” urged another stout 
gentleman, who strongly resembled the other half of the roll of 
flannel aforesaid. 

“You’re very good,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“This way,” said the first speaker, “they notch in here — it’s 
the best place in the whole field;” and the cricketer, panting on 
before, preceded them to the tent. 

“ Capital game — smart sport — fine exercise — very,” were the 
words which fell upon Mr. Pickwick’s ear as he entered the 
tent ; and the first object that met his eyes, was his green- 
coated friend of the Rochester coach, holding forth to the no 
small delight and edification of a select circle of the chosen of 
All-Muggleton. His dress was slightly improved, and he wore 
boots, but there was no mistaking him. 

The stranger recognised his friends immediately ; and, dart- 
ing forward and seizing Mr. Pickwick by the hand, dragged him 
to a seat, with his usual impetuosity, talking all the while as if 
the whole of the arrangements were under his especial j)atron- 
age and direction. 

“ This way — this way — capital fun — lots of beer — hogsheads ; 
rounds of beef — bullocks ; mustard — cart-loads ; glorious day- 
down with you — make yourself at home — glad to see you— 
very.” 

Mr. Pickwick sat down as he was bid, and Mr. Winkle a id 
Mr. Snodgrass also complied with the directions of their myr> 
tcrious friend. Mr. Wardle looked on, in silent wonder. 

“Mr. Wardle, — a friend of mine,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Friend of yours I — My dear Sir, how are you ? — Friend of 
my friends — give me your hand, Sir” — and the stranger grasped 
8 


114 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Mr. Wardle’s hand with all the fervor of a close intimacy of 
many years, and then stepped back a pace or two as if to take 
a full survey of his face and figure, and then shook hands with 
Him again, if possible, more warmly than before. 

“Well ; and how came you here said Mr. Pickwick, with 
a smile in which benevolence struggled with surprise. 

“ Corae,’^ replied the stranger — “ stopping at Crown — Cfown 
at Muggleton — met a party — flannel jackets — white trousers 
— anchovy sandwiches- -devilled kidneys — splendid fellows — 
glorious.’’ 

Mr. Pickwick was sufficiently versed in the stranger’s system 
of stenography to infer from this rapid and disjointed commu- 
nication that he had, somehow or other, contracted an acquaint- 
ance with the All-Muggletons, which he had converted, by a 
process peculiar to himself, into that extent of good fellowship 
on which a general invitation may be easily founded. His 
curiosity was therefore satisfied, and putting on his spectacles 
he prepared himself to watch the play which was just com- 
mencing. 

All-Muggleton had the first innings ; and the interest became 
intense when Mr. Dumkins and Mr. Podder, two of the most 
renowned members of that most distinguished club, walked, bat 
in hand, to their respective wickets. Mr. Luffey, the highest 
ornament of Dingley Dell, was pitched to bowl against the re- 
doubtable Dumkins, and Mr. Struggles was selected to do the 
same kind office for the hitherto unconquered Podder. Several 
players were stationed to “look out,” in different parts of the 
field, and each fixed himself into the proper attitude by placing 
one hand on each knee, and stooping very much as if he were 
“making a back” for some beginner at leap-frog. All the 
regular players do this sort of thing; indeed, it’s generally 
supposed that it is quite impossible to look out properly in any 
other position. 

The umpires were stationed behind tie wickets ; the score ? 
were prepared to notch the runs ; a breathless silence erjsue<l. 
Mr. Luffey retired a few paces behind the wicket of tlie passive 
Podder, and applied the ball to his right e} e for several seconds. 
Dumkins confidently awaited its coming, with his eyes fixed on 
the motions of Luffey. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


il6 

** Play,” suddenly cried the bowler. The ball flew from hig 
hand straij^ht and swift towards the centre stump of the wicket. 
The wary Dumkins was on the alert ; it fell upon the tip of tho 
bat, and bounded far away over the heads of the scouts, who 
had just stooped low enough to let it fly over them. 

“ Run run another. — Now, then, throw her up — up 

with her — stop there — another — no — yes — no — throw her up, 
throw her up.” — Such were the shouts which followed the 
stroke ; and, at the conclusion of which, All-Muggleton had 
scored two. Nor was Podder behindhand in earning laurels 
wherevviih to garnish himself and Muggleton. He blocked the 
doubtful balls, missed the bad ones, took the good ones, and sent 
them flying to all parts of the field. The scouts were hot and 
tired ; tlie bowlers were changed and bowled till their arms 
ached ; but Dumkins and Podder remained uncoiiquered. Did 
an elderly gentleman essay to stop the progress of the ball, it 
rolled between his legs, or slipped between his fingers. Did a 
slim gentleman try to catch it, it struck him on the nose, and 
bounded pleasantly ofl* with redoubled violence, while the slim 
gentleman’s eyes filled with water, and his form writhed with 
anguish. Was it thrown straight up to the wicket, Dumkins 
had reached it before the ball. In short, when Dumkins was 
caught out, and Podder stumped out, All-Muggleton had 
notched some fifty-four, while the score of the Dingley-Dellers 
was as blank as their faces. The advantage was too great to be 
recovered. In vain did the eager Luffey, and the enthusiastic 
Struggles, do all that skill and experience could suggest, to re- 
gain the ground Dingley Dell had lost in the contest; — it was 
of no avail ; and in an early period of the winning game Dingley 
Dell gave in, and allowed the superior prowess of All-Muggleton. 

The stranger, meanwhile, had been eating, drinking, and 
talking, without cessation. At every good stroke he expressed 
his satisfaction and approval of the player in a most condescend- 
ing and patronising manner, which could not fail to have been 
highly gratifying to the party concerned ; while at every bad 
attempt at a catch, and every failure to stop the ball, he lunched 
his personal displeasure at the head of the devoted individual 
in such denunciations as — “Ah, ah I — stupid” — “Now, butter- 
fingers^' — “ Muff” — “ Humbug” — and so forth — ejaculationa 


116 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


which seemed to establish him in the opinion of all around, as a 
most excellent and undeniable judge of the whole art and mys- 
tery of the noble game of cricket. 

“ Capital game — well played — some strokes admirable,” said 
the stranger as both sides crowded into the tent, at the conclu- 
sion of the game. 

“You have played it. Sir ?” inquired Mr. Wardle, who had 
been much an.used by his loquacity. 

“ Played it I Think I have — thousands of times — not here 
^West Indies — exciting thing — hot work — very.” 

“ It must be rather a warm pursuit in such a climate,” ob- 
served Mr. Pickwick. 

“Warm! — red hot — scorching — glowing. Played a match 
once — single wicket — friend the Colonel — Sir Thomas Blazo — 
who should get the greatest number of runs. Won the toss — 
first innings — seven o’clock, a. m. — six natives to look out — 
went in ; kept in — heat intense — natives all fainted — taken 
away — fresh half-dozen ordered — fainted also — Blazo bowling 
— supported by two natives — couldn’t bowl me out — fainted 
too — cleared away the Colonel — wouldn’t give in — faithful at- 
tendant — Quanko Samba — last man left — sun so hot, bat in 
blisters, ball scorched brown — five hundred and seventy runs — 
rather exhausted — Quanko mustered up last remaining strength 
— bowled me out — had a bath and went out to dinner.” 

“And what became of what’s-his-name. Sir?” inquired an old 
gentleman. 

“ Blazo ?” 

“ No — the other gentleman.” 

“ Quanko Samba ?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“ Poor Quanko — never recovered it — bowled on, on ray ac- 
count — bowled off, on his own — died. Sir.” Here the stranger 
buried his countenance in a brown jug, but whether to hide his 
emotion or to imbibe its contents, we cannot distinctly affirm. 
We only know that he paused suddenly, drew a long and deep 
breath, and looked anxiously on, as two of the principal mem- 
bers of the Dii-'gley Dell club approached Mr. Pickwick, and 
said — 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


117 


•‘We are a^out to partake of a plain dinner at the Blue 
Lion, Sir; we hope you and your friends will join us.” 

“Of course,” said Mr. Wardle, “among our friends we 
include Mr. :” ai;d he looked towards the stranger. 

“ Jingle,” said that versatile gentleman, taking the hint at 
once. “Jingle — Alfred Jingle, Esq., of No Hall, Nowhere.” 

“ I shall be very 'nappy, I am sure,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ So shall I,” said Mr. Alfred Jmgle, drawing one arm through 
Mr. Pickwick’s, and another through Mr. Wardle’s, as he 
whispered confidentially in the ear of the former gentleman — 

“ Devilish good dinner — cold, but capital — peeped into the 
room this morning — fowls and pics, and all that sort of thing — 
pleasant fellows these — well behaved, too — very.” 

There being no further preliminaries to arrange, the company 
straggled into the town in little knots of twos and threes ; and 
within a quarter of an hour were all seated in the great room 
of the Blue Lion inn, Muggleton — Mr. Durakins acting as chair- 
man, and Mr. Luffey officiating as vice. 

There was a vast deal of talking and rattling of knives and 
forks, and plates: a great running about of three ponderous- 
headed waiters, and a' rapid disappearance of the substantial 
viands on the table ; to each and every of which item of con- 
fusion, the facetious Mr. Jingle lent the aid of half-a-dozen or- 
dinary men at least. When every body had eat as much as they 
could, the cloth was removed, bottles, glasses, and dessert were 
placed on the table ; and the waiters withdrew to “ clear 
away,” or in other words, to appropriate to their own private 
use and emolument, whatever remnants of the eatables and 
drinkables they could contrive to lay their hands on. 

Amidst the general hum of mirth and conversation that en- 
sued, there was a little man with a puffy say-nothiug-to-me- 
or-Pll-contradict-you sort of countenance, who remained very 
quiet; occasionally looking round him when the conversation 
slackened, as if he contemplated putting in something very 
weighty ; and now and then bursting into a short cough of in- 
expr'cssible grandeur. At length, during a moment of com- 
parative silence, the little man called out in a very loud, solemn 
voice, 

“Mr. Luffey.^' 


118 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Every body was hushed into a profound silence as the indi- 
vidual addressed, replied, 

‘‘ Sir.” 

“ I wish to address a few words to you, Sir, if you will entreat 
the gentlemen to till their glasses.” 

Mr. Jingle uttered a patronising “hear, hear,” which was 
responded to, by the remainder of the company : and the glasses 
having been filled, the Vice-President assumed an air of wisdom 
in a state of profound attention ; and said, 

“ Mi\ Staple.” 

“ Sir,” said the little man, rising, “ I wish to address what I 
have to say to you and not to our worthy chairman, because our 
worthy chairman is in some measure — I may say in a great 
degree — the subject of what I have to say, or I may say to — 
to — 

“ State,” suggested Mr. Jingle. 

— “ Yes, to state,” said the little man, “I thank my honor- 
able friend, if he will allow me to call him so — (four hears, and 
one certainly from Mr. Jingle) — for the suggestion. - Sir, I am 
a Deller — a Dingley Deller, (cheers.) I cannot lay claim to the 
honor of forming an item in the population of Muggleton ; nor. 
Sir, I will frankly admit, do I covet that honor; and I will tell 
you why. Sir, (hear ;) to Muggleton I will readily concede all 
those honors and distinctions to which it can fairly lay claim — 
they are too numerous and too well known to require aid or 
recapitulation from me. But, Sir, while we remember that 
Muggleton has given birth to a Dumkins and a Podder, let us 
never forget that Dingley Dell can boast a Lutfey and a 
Struggles. (Vociferous cheering.) Let me not be cotisidered 
as wi^hing to detract from the merits of the former gentlemen 
Sir, I envy them the luxury of their own feelings on this occa 
sion. (Cheers.) Every gentleman who hears me, is probably 
acquainted with the reply made by an individual, who — to use 
an ordinary figure of speech — ‘ hung out’ in a tub, to tin 
Emperor Alexander : — ‘ If I were not Diogenes,’ said he, ‘ 1 
would be Alexander.’ I can well imagine these gentlemen to 
say, ‘ If 1 were not Dumkins I would be Luffey ; if I were not 
Podder I would be Struggles.’ (Enthusiasm.) But, gentle- 
men of Muggleton, is it in cricket alone that your fellow- towns* 


THE nCKWICK PAPERS. 


119 

men str.nd pre-eminent? Have you never heard of Duukins 
and determination ? Have you never been taught to associate 
Podder with property ? (Great applause.) Have you never, 
wlien struggling for your rights, your liberties, and your privi- 
leges, l)een reduced, if only for an instant, to misgiving and 
des})air ? And when you have been thus depressed, has not 
tlie name of Dumkiiis laid afresh within your breast, the fire 
which had just gone out; and has not a word from that man, 
lighted it again as brightly as if it had never expired ? (Great 
<*heering.) Gentlemen, I beg you to surround with a rich halo 
of enthusiastic cheering, the united names of ^Dumkins and 
Podder.’ ” 

Here the little man ceased, and here the company commenced 
a raising of voices, and thumping of tables, which hsted with 
little intermission during the remainder of the evening. Other 
toasts were drunk. Mr. Lulfey and Mr. Struggles, Mr. Pick- 
wick and Mr. Jingle, were, each in his turn, the subject of un- 
qualified elogium ; and each in due course returned thanks for 
the honor. 

Enthusiastic as we are in the noble cause to which we have 
devoted ourselves, we should have felt a sensation of pride 
which we cannot express, and a consciousness of having done 
something to merit immortality of which we are now deprived, 
could we have laid the faintest outline of these addresses before 
our ardent readers. Mr. Snodgrass, as usual, took a great mass 
of notes, which would no doubt have afforded most useful and 
valuable information, had not the burning eloquence of the 
words or the feverish influence of the wine made that gentle- 
man’s hand so extremely unsteady, as to render his writing 
nearly unintelligible, and his style wholly so. By dint of patient 
investigation, we have been enabled to trace some characters 
bearing a faint resemblance to the names of the speakers ; and 
we can also disceni an entry of a song (supposed to have been 
sung by Mr. Jingle), in which the words “bowl,” “sparkling,” 
“ rubv,” “bright,” and “ wine,” are frequently repeated at short 
intervals. We fancy too, that we can discern at the very end 
of the notes, some indistinct reference to “broiled bones;” and 
then the words “cold” “ without” occur: but as any hypothesig 
we could found upon them must necessarily rest upon mere cott* 


120 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


jecture, we are not disposed to indulge in any of the specula ^ 
tions to which they may give rise. 

We will therefore return to Mr. Tupman; merely adding 
that within some few minutes before twelve o’clock that night, 
the convocation of worthies of Dingley Dell and Muggleton, 
were heard to sing with great feeling and emphasis the beau- 
liful aud pathetic national air, of 

We won’t go borne 'till morning. 

We won’t go home ’till morning. 

We won’t go home 'till morning, 

'Till daylight doth appear. 


CHAPTER IX. 


S^( 


. -rr 


STRONGLY ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE POSITION, THAT THE COURSE OP 
TRUE LOVE IS NOT A RAILWAY. 

The quiet seclusion of Dingley Bell, the presence of so many 
of the gentler sex, and the solicitude and anxiety they evinced 
in his behalf, were all favorable to the growth and develop- 
ment of those softer feelings which nature had implanted deep 
in the bosom of Mr. Tracy Tupman, and which now appeared 
destined to centre in one lovely object. The young ladies were 
pretty, their manners winning, their dispositions unexception- 
able ; but there was a dignity in the air, a touch-me-not-ishness 
in the walk, a majesty in the eye of the spinster aunt, to which, 
at their time of life they could lay no claim, which distinguished 
her from any female on whom Mr. Tupman had ever gazed. 
That there was something kindred in their nature, something 
congenial in their souls, something mysteriously sympathetic in 
their bosoms,' was evident. Her name was the first that rose 
to Mr. Tupman’s lips as he lay wounded on the grass; and her 
hysteric laughter was the first sound that fell upon his ear, 
when he was supported to the house. But had her agitation 
arisen from an amiable and feminine sensibility which would 
have been equally irrepressible in any case ; or had it been called 
forth by a more ardent and passionate feeling, which he, of all 
men living, could alone awaken ? These were the doubts which 
racked his brain as he lay extended on the sofa : these were the 
doubts which he determined should be at once and for ever 
resolved. 

It was evening. Isabella and Emily had strolled out with 
Mr. Trundle; the deaf old lady had fallen asleep in her chair; 
the snoring of the fat boy penetrated in a low and monotonous 
sound from the distant kitchen ; the buxom servants were loung- 
ing at the side-door, enjoying the pleasantness of the hour, and 
the delights of a flirtation, on first principled, with cterfeiu 


THE PICKVTICK PAPERS. 


iS 

unwieldy animals attached to the farm ; and there sat the interest- 
ing pair, uncared for by all, caring for none, and dreaming only 
of themselves : there they sat, in short, like a pair of carefully 
folded kid-gloves — bound up in each other. 

“ I have forgotten ray flowers,” said the spinster aunt. 

“Water them now,” said Mr. Tupman in accents of persua 
si on. 

“You will take cold in the evening air,” urged the spinster 
aunt, affectionately. 

“No, no,” said Mr. Tupman, rising; “it will do me good. 
I.et me accompany you.” 

The lady paused to adjust the sling in which the left arm of 
the youth was placed, and taking his right arm, led him to the 
garden. 

There was a bower at the further end, with honeysuckle, 
jessamine, and creeping plants — one of those sweet retreats, 
which humane men erect for the accommodation of spiders. 

The spinster aunt took up a large watering-pot which lay in 
one corner, and was about to leave the arbor. Mr. Tupman 
detained her, and drew her to a seat beside him. 

“Miss AVardlel” said he. 

The spinster aunt trembled, till some pebbles, which had acci- 
dentally found their way into the large watering-pot, shook like 
an infant’s rattle. 

“Miss Wardle,” said Mr. Tupman, “you are an angel.” 

“Mr. Tupman!” exclaimed Rachel, blushing as red as the 
watering-pot itself. 

“Nay,” said the eloquent Pickwickian, “I know it but too 
well.” 

“All women are angels, they say,” murmured the lady, play- 
fully. 

“Then what can you be; or to what, without presumption, 
can I compare you?” replied Mr. Tupman. “Where was the 
woman ever seen, who resembled you ? — Where else could I hope 
to find so rare a combination of excellence and beauty ? — Where 
else could I seek to — Oh!” Here Mr. Tupman paused, and 
pressed the hand which clasped the handle of the happy water- 
ing-pot. 



THE FAT BOY AWAKE ON THIS OCCASION ONLY . — PdQB 123 . 










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THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


12S 


The lady turned aside her head. “ Men are such deceivers,” 
the softly whispered. 

“They are, they are,” ejaculated Mr. Tupman; “but not all 
men. There lives at least one being who can never change — 
one being who would be content to devote his whole existence 
to your happiness — who lives but in your eyes — rwho breathes 
but ill your smiles — who bears the heavy burden of life itself 
only for you.” 

“Could such an individual be found,” said the lady 

“But he can be found,” said the ardent Mr. Tupman, inter- 
posing. “He IS found. He is here. Miss Wardle.” And ere 
the lady was aware of his intention, Mr. Tupman had sunk upon 
his knees at her feet. 

“ Mr. Tupman, rise,” said Rachel. 

“ Never I” was the valorous reply. “ Oh, Rachel I” He seized 
her passive hand, and the watering-pot fell to the ground as he 
pressed it to his lips. “Oh, Rachel I say that you love me.” 

“ Mr. Tupman,” said the spinster aunt, with an averted head. 
“ I can hardly speak the words — but — but you are not wholly 
indilferent to me.” 

Mr. Tupman no sooner heard this avowal than he proceeded 
to do what his enthusiastic emotions prompted, and what, for 
aught we know, (for we are but little acquainted with such mat- 
ters,) people so circumstanced always do. He jumped up, and 
throwing his arms around the neck of the spinister aunt, imprinted 
i pon her lips numerous kisses, which, after a due show of strug- 
i ling and resistance, she received so passively, that there is no 
l hling how many more Mr. Tupman might have bestowed, if 
Ue lady had not given a very unaffected start, and exclaimed in 
f n affrighted tone, — 

“ Mr. Tupman, we are observed I — we are discovered I” 

Mr. Tupman looked round. There was the fat boy, perfectly 
iMOtionless, with his large circular eyes staring into the arbor, 
bat without the slightest expression on his face that the most 
expert physiogu*mist could have referred to astonishment, curi- 
cuty, or any other known passion that agitates the human 
creast. Mr. Tupman ^azed on the fat boy, and the fat boy 
scared at him ; and the longer Mr. Tupman observed the utter 
vicancy of the fat boy’s countenance, the more convinced he 


121 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


became that he either did not know, or did not understand any 
thing that had been going forward. Under this impression, he 
said, with great firmness, — 

“ What do you want here, Sir 

“ Supper’s ready. Sir,” was the prompt reply. 

“ Have you just come here, Sir ?” inquired Mr. Tupman with 
a piercing look. 

“Just,” replied the fat boy. 

Mr. Tupman looked at him very hard again ; but there was 
not a wink in his eye, or a curve in his face. 

Mr. Tupman took the arm of the spinster aunt, and walked 
towards the house ; the fat boy followed behind. 

“ He knows nothing of what has happened,” he whispered. 

“Nothing,” said the spinster aunt. 

There was a sound behind them, as of an imperfectly sup- 
pressed chuckle. Mr. Tupman turned sharply round. No; it 
could not have been the fat boy ; there was not a gleam of mirth, 
or any thing but feeding in his whole visage. 

“ He must have been fast asleep,” whispered Mr. Tupman. 

“ I have not the least doubt of it,” replied the spinster aunt. 

They both laughed heartily. 

Mr. Tupman was wrong. The fat boy, for once, had not 
been fast asleep. He was awake — wide awake — to what had 
been going forward. 

The supper passed off without any attempt at a general con- 
versation. The old lady had gone to bed; Isabella Wardlo 
devoted herself exclusively to Mr. Trundle ; the spinster aunt’t 
attentions w'ere reserved for Mr. Tupman ; and Emily’s thoughts 
appeared to be engrossed by some distant object — possibly they 
were with the absent Snodgrass. 

Eleven — twelve — one o’clock had struck, and the gentlemen 
had not arrived. Consternation sat on every face. Could they 
have been waylaid and robbed ? Should they send men and 
lanterns in every direction by which they could be supposed 
likely to have traveled home ? or should they — Hark ! there 
they were. What could have made them so late I A strange 
voice, too I To whom could it belong ? They rushed into the 
kitchen, whither the truants had repaired, and at once obtained 
rather more than a glimmering of the real state of the case. 



WARDLE AND HIS FRIENDS UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF “THE SALMON.”— 125 


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THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


125 


Mr. Pickmck with his hands in his pockets and his hat 
cocked completely over his left eye, was leaning against the 
dresser, shaking his head from side to side, and producing a 
constant succession of the blandest and most benevolent smiles 
without being moved thereunto by any discernible cause or pre- 
tence whatsoever; old Mr. Wardle, with a highly inflamed 
countenance, was grasping the hand of a strange gentleman 
muttering protestations of eternal friendship ; Mr. Winkle, sup- 
porting himself by the eight-day clock, was feebly invoking 
destruction upon the head of any member of the family who 
should suggest the propriety of his retiring for the night ; and 
Mr. Snodgrass had sunk into a chair, with an expression of 
the most abject and hopeless misery that the human mind 
can imagine, portrayed in every lineament of his expressive 
face. 

“ Is any thing the matter inquired the three ladies. 

“Nothin’ the matter,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “We — we’re 
— all right. — I say Wardle, we’re all right, ain’t we ?” 

“ I should think so,” replied the jolly host. — “ My dears, 
here’s my friend Mr. Jingle — Mr. Pickwick’s friend, Mr. Jingle, 
come ’pon — little visit.” 

“ Is any thing the matter with Mr. Snodgrass, Sir ?” inquired 
Emily, with great anxiety. 

“ Nothing the matter. Ma’am,” replied the stranger. “ Cricket 
dinner — glorious party — capital songs — old port — claret — good 
. — very good — wine, Ma’am — wine.” 

“ It wasn’t the wine,” murmured Mr. Snodgrass, in a broken 
voice. “It was the salmon.” (Somehow or other, it never is 
the wine, in these cases.) 

“ Hadn’t they better go to bed. Ma’am ?” inquired Emma 
‘ Two of the boys will carry the gentlemen up stairs.” 

“ I won’t go to bed,” said Mr. Winkle, firmly. 

“ No living boy shall carry me,” said Mr. Pickwick, stoutly; 
—and he went on smiling as before. 

“ Hurrah!” gasped Mr. Winkle, faintly. 

“ Hurrah 1” echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat, and 
dashing it on the floor, and insanely casting his spectacles 
into the middle of the kitchen. At this humorous feat ho 
laughed outright. 


126 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“Let’s — ^liave — ’nother — bottle,” cried Mr. Winkle, com- 
mencing in a very loud key, and ending in a very faint one. 
His head dropped upon his breast; and, muttering his invin- 
cible determination not to go to his bed, and a sanguinary 
regret that he had not “done for old Tupman” in the morning, 
be fell fast asleep ; in which condition he was borne to his apart- 
ment by two young giants under the personal superintendence of 
the fat boy; to whose protecting care, Mr. Snodgrass shortly 
afterwards confided his own person. Mr. Pickwick accepted 
the proffered arm of Mr. Tupman, and quietly disap )eared, 
smiling more than ever; and Mr Wardle, after taking as 
affectionate a leave of the whole family as if he were ordered 
for immediate execution, consigned to Mr Trundle the honor 
of conveying him up stairs, and retired with a very futile at- 
tempt to look impressively solemn and dignified. 

“ What a shocking scene !” said the, spinster aunt. 

“ Dis-gnsting I” ejaculated both the young ladies. 

“Dreadful — dreadful !” said Jingle, looking very grave; he 
was about a bottle and a half ahead of any of his companions. 

“Horrid spectacle — ^very.” 

“ What a nice man !” whispered the spinster aunt, to Mr. 
Tupman. 

“ Good-looking, too I” whispered Emily Wardle. 

“ Oh, decidedly,” observed the spinster aunt. 

Mr. Tupman thought of the widovv at Rochester: and his 
mind was troubled. The succeeding half-hour’s conversation 
was not of a nature to calm his perturbed spirit. The new 
visitor was very talkative, and the number of his anecdotes was 
only to be exceeded by the extent of his politeness. Mr. Tup 
man felt, that as Jingle’s popularity increased, he (Tupman) 
letired farther into the shade. His laughter was forced — liis 
merriment feigned; and when at last he laid his aching temples 
between the sheets, he thought, with horrid delight, on the satis- 
faction it would afford him to have Jingle’s head at that moment 
between the feather-bed and the mattress. 

The indefatigable stranger rose betimes next morning, and, 
although his companions remiined in bed overpowered with 
the dissipation of the previous night, exerted himself most suc- 
cessfully to promote the hilarity of the breakfast-table. So sue- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


127 


cessful were his efforts, that even the deaf old lady insisted on 
having one or two of his best jokes retailed through the trumpet ; 
and even she condescended to observe to the spinster aunt, that 
“he” (meaning Jingle) “was an impudent young fellow,” — a 
sentiment in which all her relations, then and there present, 
tlioroughiy coincided. 

It was the old lady’s habit on the fine summer mornings to 
repair to the arbor in which Mr. Tupman had already sig- 
nalised himself, ki form and manner following : first, the fat 
boy fetched from a peg behind the old lady’s bedroom door, a 
close black satin bonnet, a warm cotton shawl, and a thick 
stick with a capacious handle ; and the old lady having put on 
the bonnet and shawl at her leisure, would lean one hand on 
the stick and the other on the fat boy’s shoulder, and walk lei- 
surely to the arbor, where the fat boy would leave her to enjoy 
the fresh air for the space of half an hour; at the expiration 
of which time he would return and recoiiduct her back to the 
house. 

The old lady was very precise and very particular; and as 
this ceremony had been observed for three successive summers 
without the slightest deviation from the accustomed form, she 
was not a little surprised on tliis p«irticular morning, to see the 
fat boy, instead of leaving the arbor, walk a few paces out of 
it, look carefully round him in every direction, and return 
towards her with great stealth and an air of the most profound 
mystery. 

The old lady was timorous — most old ladies are — and her 
first imyjressiou was that the bloated lad was about to do her 
some grievous bodily harm, with the view of possessing himself 
of her loose coin. She would have cried for assistance, but 
age and infirmity had long ago deprived her of the power of 
scieaining; she, therefore, watched his motions with feelings of 
ii. tense terror, which were in no degree diminished by his 
coming close up to her, and shouting in her ear, in an agitated, 
and, as it seemed to her, a threatening tone, — 

“ Missus !” 

Now it so happened that Mr. Jingle was walking in the gar- 
den close to the arbor at this moment. He too heard the 
Bhout of “Missus,” and stopped to hear more. There were 


128 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


three reasons for his doing so. In the first place, he was Idle 
and curious ; secondly, he was by no means scrupulous ; thirdly, 
and lastly, he was concealed from view by some flowering 
shrubs. So there he stood, and there he listened. 

Missus,** shouted the fat boy. 

“Well, Joe,” said the trembling old lady, “I’m sure I have 
been a good mistress to you, Joe. You have invariably been 
treated very kindly. You have never had too much to do ; and 
you have always had enough to eat.” 

This last was an appeal to the fat boy’s most sensitive feel- 
ings. He seemed touched as he replied, emphatically, — 

“ I know I has.” 

“ Then what can you want to do now ?” said the old lady, 
gaining courage. 

“ I wants to make your flesh creep,” replied the boy. 

This sounded like a very blood-thirsty mode of showing one’s 
gratitude ; and as the old lady did not precisely understand the 
process by which such a result was to be attained, all her former 
horrors returned. 

“ What do you think I see in this very arbor last night ?” 
inquired the boy. 

“ Bless us I What ?” exclaimed the old lady, alarmed at the 
solemn manner of the corpulent youth. 

“ The strange gentleman — him as had his arm hurt — a kissin’ 
and huggin’ ” 

“Who, Joe — who ? None of the servants, I hope.” 

“Worser than that,” roared the fat boy, in the old lady’s 
ear. 

“ Not one of my grand-da’aters ?” 

“ Worser than that.” 

“ Worse than that, Joe ?” said the old lady, who had thought 
this the extreme limit of human atrocity. “ Who was it, Joe ? 
I insist upon knowing.” 

The fat boy looked cautiously round, and having concluded 
his survey, shouted in the old lady’s ear, — 

“Miss Rachel.” 

“ What 1” said the old lady, in a shrill tone. “ Speak 
louder.” 

“ Miss Rachel,” roared the fat boy. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


i29 


“ My da’ater !” 

The train of nods which the fat boy gave by way of assent, 
communicated a hlanc-mange like motion to bis fat cheeks. 

“And she suffered him I” exclaimed the old lady. 

A grin stole over the fat boy’s features as he said, — 

“ I see her a kissin’ of him agin.” 

If Mr. Jingle from his place of concealment, could have, 
beheld the expression which the old lady’s face assumed at this 
communication, the probability is that a sudden burst of laughter 
would have betrayed his close vicinity to the summer-house. He 
listened attentively. Fragments of angry sentences such as, 
“Without my permission I” — “ At her time of life” — “ Miserable 
old ’ooman like me” — “ Might have waited till I was dead,” 
and so forth, reached his ears ; and then he heard the heels of 
the fat boy’s boots crunching the gravel, as he retired and left 
the old lady alone. 

It was a remarkable coincidence perhaps, but it was never- 
theless a fact, that Mr. Jingle, within five minutes after his 
arrival at Manor Farm on the preceding night, had inwardly 
resolved to lay siege to the heart of the spinster aunt, without 
delay. He had observation enough to see, that his off-hand 
manner was by no means disagreeable to the fair object of his 
attack ; and he had more than a strong suspicion that she pos- 
sessed that most desirable of all requisites, a small independence 
The imperative necessity of ousting his rival by some means or 
other flashed quickly upon him, and he immediately resolved to 
adopt certain proceedings tending to that end and object, with- 
out a moment’s delay. Fielding tells us that man is fire, and 
woman tow, and the Prince of Darkness sets a light to ’em. 
Mr. Jingle knew that young men, to spinster aunts, are as lighted 
gas to gunpowder, and he determined to essay the effect of an 
explosion without loss of time. 

Full of reflections upon this important decision, he crept from 
his place of concealment, and, under cover of the shrubs before 
mentioned, approached the house. Fortune seemed determined 
to favor his design. Mr. Tupman and the rest of the gentlemen 
left the garden by the side gate just as he obtained a view of it j 
and the young ladies, he knew, had walked out alone, .soon after 
breakfast. The coast was clear, 
d 


wo 


THE PICKWICK PAPPUS. 


The breakfast parlor-door was partially open. 3Ic peeped in. 
Tik spinster aunt was knitting. He coughed , she looked up 
and smiled. Hesitation formed no part of Mr. Alfred Jingle’s 
character. He laid his finger on his lips mysteriously, walianl 
in, and closed the door. 

“ Miss Wardle,” said Mr. Jingle, with affected earnestness, 
“forgive intrusion — short acquaintance — no time for ceremoii} 
— all discovered.” 

“ Sir I” said the spinster aunt, rather astonished by the unex- 
pected apparition, and somewhat doubtful of Mr. Jingle’s sanity. 

“ Hush 1” said Mr. Jingle, in a stage whisper ; — “ large boy 
— dumpling face — round eyes — rascal I” Here he shook his 
head expressively, and the spinster aunt trembled with agitation. 

“ I presume you allude to Joseph, Sir ?” said the lady, making 
an efibrt to appear composed. 

“Yes, Ma’am — damn that Joel — treacherous dog. Joe- 
told the old lady — old lady furious — wild — raving — arbor— 
Tupman — kissing and hugging — all that sort of thing — eh, 
Ma’am, eh ?” 

“ Mr. Jingle,” said the spinster aunt, “ if you come here, Sir^ 
to insult me ” 

“ Not at all — by no means,” replied the unabashed Mr 
Jingle; — “overheard the tale — came to warn you of your dan- 
ger — tender my services — prevent the hubbub. Never mind — 
think it an insult — leave the room” — and he turned, as if to 
carry the threat into execution. 

“ What shall I do I” said the poor spinster, bursting into 
tears. “ My brother will be furious I” 

“ Of course he will,” said Mr. Jingle, pausing — “ outrage- 
ous.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Jingle, what can I say I” exclaimed the spinster 
aunt, in another flood of despair. 

“ Say he dreamt it,” replied Mr. Jingle, coolly. 

A ray of comfort darted across the mind of the spinster aunt 
at this suggestion. Mr. Jingle perceived it, and followed up 
his advantage. 

“Pooh, pooh ! — nothing more easy — blackguard boy — lovely 
woman — fat boy horsewhipped — you believed — end of the mat- 
ter — all comfortable.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


181 


“Whether the probability of escaping from the conseqncnces 
of this ill-timed discovery was delightful to the s])inster’s feel- 
ings, or whether the hearing herself described as a “ lovely wo- 
maii” softened the asperity of her grief, we know not. She 
blushed slightly, and cast a grateful look on Air. Jingle. 

That insinuating gentleman sighed deeply, fixed his eyes on 
the spinster aunt’s face for a couple of minutes, started melo- 
dramatically, and suddenly withdrew them. 

“You seem unhappy, Mr. Jingle,” said the lady, in a plain- 
tive voice. “ Alay I show my gratitude for your kind inter- 
ference, by inquiring into the cause, with a view, if possible, to 
its removal ?” 

“ Ha!” exclaimed Air. Jingle, with another start — “ removal I 
remove my unhappiness, and your love bestowed upon a man 
who is insensible to the blessing — who even now contemplates a 
design upon the affections of the niece of the creature who — 
but no ; he is my friend ; I will not expose his vices. Miss 
Wardle — farewell I” At the conclusion of this address, the 
most consecutive he was ever known to utter. Air. Jingle ap- 
plied to his eyes the remnant of a handkerchief before noticed, 
and turned towards the door. 

“ Stay, Mr. Jingle !” said the spinster aunt, emphatically. 
“ You have made an allusion to Air. Tupman — explain it.” 

“Never I” exclaimed Jingle, with a professional (i. e., thea- 
trical) air. “ Never I” ' and, by way of showing that he had no 
desire to be questioned further, he drew a chair close to that 
of the spinster aunt and sat down. 

“Air. Jingle,” said the aunt, “I entreat — I implore you, if 
there is any dreadful mystery connected with Air. Tupmaii, re- 
veal it.” 

“Can I,” said Air. Jingle, fixing his eyes on the aunt’s face 
— “can I see — lovely creature — sacrificed at the shrine — heart- 
less avarice I” He appeared to be struggling with various 
conflicting emotions for a few seconds, and then said in a low 
deep voice — “ Tupman only wants your money.” 

“ The wretch !” exclaimed the spinster, with energetic indig- 
nation. (Air. Jingle’s doubts were resolved. She had money. ) 

“Alore than that,” said Jingle — loves another.” 

“ Another I” ejaculated the spinster. “ Who?” 


182 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ Short girl — ^black eyes — ^niece Emily.” 

There was a pause. 

Now if there were one individual in the whole world, of 
whom the spinster aunt entertained a mortal and deeply-rooted 
jealousy, it was this identical niece. The color rushed over 
her face and neck, and she tossed her head in silence wdth an 
air of ineffable contempt. At last, biting her thin lips, and 
bridling up, she said, — 

*‘lt can’t be. I w^on’t believe it.” 

Watch ’em,” said Jingle. 

”I wdll,” said the aunt. 

Watch his looks.” 

“Iwill.” 

“ His whispers.” 

“I will.” 

“ He’ll sit next her at table.” 

“Let him.” 

“ He’ll flatter her. ’ 

“ Let him.” 

“ He’ll pay her every possible attention.” 

“Let him.” 

“And he’ll cut you.” 

“ Cut me.'” screamed the spinster annt. ** Ee cut me ; — 
mil he 1” and she trembled with rage and disappointment. 

“You will convince yourself?” said Jingle. 

“I will.” 

“ You’ll show your spirit ?” 

“ I will.” 

“ You’ll not have him afterwmrds ?” 

“ Never.” 

“You’ll take somebody else ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“You shall.” 

Mr. Jingle fell on his knees, remained thereupon for five 
minutes thereafter : and rose the accepted lover of the spinster 
aunt — conditionally upon Tupman’s perjury being made clear 
and manifest. 

The burden of proof lay with Mr. Alfred Jingle; and he 
produced his evidence that very day at dinner. The spinster 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


annt could hardly believe her eyes. Mr. Tracy Tupman was 
established at Emily’s side, oglinj^, whisperiiig, and smilijig. in 
opposition to Mr. Snodgrass. Not a word, not a look, not a 
glance, did he bestow upon his heart's pride of the evening 
before. 

“ Damn that boy I” thought old Mr. Wardle to himself. — He 
had heard the story from his mother. Damn that boy I Uo 
must have been asleep. It’s all imagination.” 

‘‘ Traitor I” thought the spinster aunt to herself. ■' Dear 
Mr. Jingle was not deceiving me. Oh I how I hate the 
wretch 1” 

The following conversation may serve to explain to our 
readers, this apparently unaccountable alteration of deportment, 
on the part of Mr. Tracy Tupman. 

The time was evening ; the scene the garden. There were 
two figures walking in a side path ; one was rather short and 
stout ; the other rather tall and slim. They were Mr. Tupman 
and Mr. Jingle. The stout figure commenced the dialogue. 

How did I do it?” he intpiired. 

“ Splendid — capital — couldn’t act better myself — you must 
repeat the part to-morrow — every evening, till further notice.” 

“ Does Rachel still wish it ?” 

“ Of course — she don’t like it — but must be done — avert 
suspicion — afraid of her brother — says there’s no help for it — . 
only few days more — when old folks blinded — crown your hap- 
piness.” 

Any message ?” 

“Love — best love — ^kindest regards — ^unalterable affection 
Can I say any thing for you ?” 

“My dear fellow,” replied the unsuspicious Mr. Tupman, 
feivently grasping his “friend’s” hand — “carry my best love — ■ 
say how^ hard I find it to dissemble — say any thing that’s kind : 
but add how sensible I am of the necessity of the suggestion 
she made to me, trough you, this morning. Say 1 applaud her 
wisdom, and admire her discretion.” 

“ I will. Any thing more ?” 

“ Nothing; only add how ardently I long for the time when 
I may call her mine, and all dissimulation may be unne- 
cessary.” 


184 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ Certainly, certainly. Any thing more ?” 

Oh, my friend I” said poor Mr. Tapman, again grasping 
the hand of his companion, “receive my warmest thanks for 
your disinterested kindness ; and forgive me if I have ever, 
even in thought, done you the injustice of supposing ihut 
you coutd stand in my way. My dear friend, can I ever repay 
you 

“ Don’t talk of it,” replied Mr. Jingle. He stopped short, 
as if suddenly recollecting something, and said, — “By-the-by, 
you can’t spare ten pounds, can you ? — very particular purpose 
— pay you in three days.” 

“ 1 dare say I can,” replied Mr. Tupman, in the fullness of 
his heart. “ Three days, you say ?” 

“ Only three days — all over then — no more difficulties.” 

Mr. Tupman counted the money into his companion’s hand, 
and he dropped it piece by piece into his pocket, as they walked 
towards the house. 

“Be careful,” said Mr. Jingle — “not a look.” 

“Not a wink,” said Mr. Tupman. 

“ Not a syllable.” 

“ Not a whisper.” 

“All your attentions to the niece — rather rude than other- 
wise, to the aunt — only way of deceiving the old ones.” 

“ I’ll take care,” said Mr. Tupman, aloud. 

“And /’ll take care,” said Mr. Jingle, internally; and they 
entered the house. 

Tlie scene of that afternoon was repeated that evening, and 
on the three afternoons and evenings next ensuing. On the 
fourth, the host was in high spirits, for he had satisfied him- 
self that there was no ground for the charge against Mr. Tup- 
man. So was Mr. Tupman, for Mr. Jingle had told him tha 
his affair would soon be brought to a crisis. So was Mr 
Pickwick, for he was seldom otherwise. So was not Mr. Snod- 
grass, for he had grown jealous of Mr. Tupman. So was the 
old lady, for she had been winning at whist. So were Mr. 
dingle and Miss Wardle, for reasons of sufficient importance in 
this eventful history, to be narrated in another chapter. 


CHAPTER X. 


A DISCOVERY AND A CHASE. 

The supper was ready laid, the chairs were drawn round the 
table, bottles, jugs, and glasses were arranged upon the side- 
board, and every thing betokened the approach of the most 
convivial period in the whole four-and-twenty hours. 

“ Where’s Rachel said Mr. Wardle. 

** Ay, and Jingle ?” added Mr. Pickwick. 

Dear me,” said the host, “ 1 wonder I haven’t missed him 
before. Why, I don’t think I’ve heard his voice for two hours 
at least. Emily, my dear, ring the bell. 

The bell was rung, and the fat boy appeared. 

“ Where’s Miss Rachel ?” He couldn’t say. 

“ Where’s Mr. Jingle, then ?” He didn’t know. 

Every body looked surprised. It was. late — past eleven 
o’clock. Mr. Tupman laughed in his sleeve. They were 
loitering somewhere, talking about him. Ha, ha ! capital 
notion that — funny. 

“Never mind,” said Wardle, after a short pause, “they’ll 
turn up presently, I dare say. I never wait supper for any 
body.” 

“Excellent rule, that,” said Mr. Pickwick, “admirable.” 

“ Pray, sit down,” said the host. 

“ Certainly,” said Mr. Pickwick ; and down they sat. 

There was a gi.gantic round of cold beef on the table, and 
Mr. Pickwick was supplied with a plentiful portion of it. He 
had raised his fork to his lips, and was on the very point of 
oixming his mouth for the reception of a piece of beef, when 
the lium of many voices suddenly arose in the kitchen. lie 
paused and laid down his fork. Mr. Wa-rdle paused too, and 
insensibly released his hold of the carving knife, which re- 
mained inserted in the beef. He looked at Mr. Pickwick, 
Mr. Pickwick looked at him. 


( 135 ) 


136 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Ueavy footsteps were heard in the passage; the parlor door 
was suddenly burst open; and the man who had cleaned Mr. 
Pickwick’s boots on his first arrival, rushed into the room, 
followed by the fat boy, and all the domestics. 

“What the devil’s the meaning of this?” exclaimed the 
host. . 

“The kitchen chimney ain’t a-fire, is it, Emma?” inquired 
the old lady. 

“ Lor, grandma I no,” screamed both the young ladies. 

“What’s the matter?” roared the master of the house. 

The man gasped for breath, and faintly ejaculated — 

“ They ha’ gone, Mas’r I — gone right clean off. Sir I” (At 
this juncture, Mr. Tupman was observed to lay down his 
knife and fork, and to turn very pale.) 

“Who’s gone?” said Mr. Wardle, fiercely. 

“Mus’r Jingle and Miss Rachel, in a po’-chay, from Blue 
Lion, Muggleton. I was there; but I couldn’t stop ’em; so 
I run off to tell ee.” 

“ I paid his expenses !” said Mr. Tupman, jumping up fran- 
tically. “He’s got ten pounds of mine! — stop him! — he’s 
swindled me ! — I won’t bear it ! — I’ll have justice, Pickwick ! — 
I won’t stand it!” and with sundry incoherent exclamations of 
the like nature, the unhappy gentleman spun round and round 
the apartment, in a transport of frenzy. 

“ Lorvl preserve us !” ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, eyeing the 
extraordinary gestures of his friend with terrified surprise. 
“ He’s gone mad ! What shall we do !” 

“ Do,” said the stout old host, who regarded only the last 
words of the sentence. “ Put the horse in the gig! I’ll get a 
chaise at the Lion, and follow ’em instantly. Where” — he 
e.xclainied, as the man ran out to execute the commission— 
“ Where’s that villain, Joe?” 

“Here I am; but I liain’t a willin,” replied a voice. It 
was tlic fat boy’s. 

“ Let me get at him, Pickwick I” cried Wardle, as he rushed 
at, (he ill-starred youth. “ He was bribed by the scoundrel, 
Jingle, to put me on a wrong scent, by telling a cock-and-a- 
bull story of my sister and your friend Tupman !” (Here Mr. 
Tupman sunk into a chair.) “ Let me at him !” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


187 


** Don’t lot him 1” screamed all the women, above whose 
exclamations the blubbering of the fat boy was distinctly au- 
dible. 

“ I won’t be held I” cried the old man. Mr. Winkle, take 
your hands off! Mr. Pickwick, let me go, Sir I” 

It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil and 
confusion, to behold the placid and philosophical expression 
of Mr. Pickwick’s face, albeit somewhat flushed with exertion, 
as he stood with his arms firmly clasped round the extensive 
waist of their corpulent host, thus restraining the impetuosity 
of his passion, while the fat boy was scratched, and pulled, 
and pushed from the room by all the females congregated 
therein. He had no sooner released his hold, than the man 
entered to announce that*the gig was ready. 

“ Don’t let him go alone I” screamed the females. He’ll 
kill somebody 1” 

“I’ll go with him,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“You’re a good fellow, Pickwick,” said the host, grasping 
his hand. “ Emma, give Mr. Pickwick a shawl to tie round 
his neck — make haste. Look after your grand-mother, girls; 
she’s fainted away. Now then, are you ready?” 

Mr. Pickwick’s mouth and chin, having been hastily enve- 
loped in a large shawl ; his hat having been put on his head, 
and his great coat thrown over his arm, he replied in the affir- 
mative. 

They jumped into the gig. “ Give her her head, Tom,” cried 
the host ; and away they went, down the narrow lanes ; jolting 
in and out of the cart-ruts, and bumping up against the 
hedges on either side, as if they would go to pieces every 
moment. 

“How much are they ahead?” shouted Wardle, as they 
drove up to the door of the Blue Lion, round which a little 
crowd had collected, late as it was. 

“Not above three-quarters of an hour,” was every body’s 
reply. 

“ Chaise and four directly I — out with ’em I Put up the gig 
afterwards. ” 

“ Now, boys!” cried the landlord — “chaise and four out- 
make haste — look alive there 1” 


188 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Away ran the hostlers, and the boys. The lanterns glim- 
mered, as the men ran to and fro; the horses’ hoofs clattered 
on the uneven x)avingof the yard; the chaise rumbled as it was 
drawn out of the coach-house; and all was noise and bustle. 

“Now then 1 — is that chaise coming out to-uiglit cried 
Wardle. 

“ Coming down the yard now. Sir,” replied the hostler. 

Out came the chaise — in went the horses — on sprung the boys 
. — in got the travelers. 

“Mind — the seven-mile stage in less than half an hourl” 
shouted Wardle. 

“Off' with you !” 

The boys applied whip and spur, the waiters shouted, the 
hostlers cheered, and away they went, fast and furiously. 

“Pretty situation,” thought Mr. Pickwick, when he had had a 
moment’s time for reflection. “Pretty situation for the General 
Chairman of the Pickwick Club. Damp chaise — strange horses 
. — tifieen miles an hour — and twelve o’clock at night I” 

For the first three or four miles, not a word was spoken by 
either of the gentlemen, each being too much immersed in his 
own reflections, to address any observations to his companion. 
When they had gone over that much ground, however, and the 
horses getting thoroughly warmed began to do their work in 
really good style, Mr. Pickwick became too much exhilarated with 
the rapidity of the motion to remain any longer perfectly mute. ' 

“We’re sure to catch them, I think,” said he. 

“Hope so,” replied his companion. 

“ Fine night,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking up at the moon, 
which was shining brightly. 

“So much the worse,” returned Wardle, “for they’ll have had 
all the advantage of the moonlight to get the start of us, and we 
shall lose it. It will have gone down in another hour.” 

“Jt will be rather unpleasant going at this rate In the dark, 
won’t it ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ I dare say it will,” replied his friend, drily. 

Mr. Pickwick’s temporary excitement began to sober down a 
litth;, as he reflected upon the inconveniences and dangers of the 
expedition in which he had so thoughtlessly embarked. He 
was roused by a loud shouting of the post-boy on the leader. 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


189 


— yo — yo — yo — ^yoe,” went the 6rst boy. 

“ Yo — yo — yo — yoel” went the second. 

“Vo — yo — yo — yoe!” chimed in old Wardle himself, most 
lustily, with his head and half his body out of the coach-window. 

“Yo — yo — yo — 3 *oe!” shouted Mr. Pickwick, taking uj) ihe 
burden of the cry, though he had not the slightest notion of its 
meaning or object. And midst the yo — yoing of the whole 
four, the chaise stopped. 

“What’s the matter?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“There’s a gate here,” replied old Wardle. “We shall hear 
something of the fugitives.” 

After a lapse of five minutes, consumed in incessant knocking 
and shouting, an old man in his shirt and trousers emerged from 
the turnpike-house, and opened the gate. 

“llovv long is it since a post-chaise went through here?” 
inquired Mr. Wardle. 

“How long?” 

“Ah!” 

“ Why, I don’t rightly know. It worn’t a long time ago, nor 
it worn’t a short time ago — just between the two perhaps.” 

“Has any chaise been by at all ?” 

“Oh yes, there’s been a chay by.” 

“How long ago, my friend,” interposed Mr. Pickwick, “an 
hour ?” 

“Ah, T dare say it might be,” replied the man. 

“Or two hours?” inquired the post-boy on the wheeler. 

“Well, 1 shouldn’t wonder if it was,” returned the old man, 
doubtfully. 

“Drive on boys,” cried the testy old gentleman: “don’t waste 
any more time with that old idiot!” 

“ Idiot !” exclaimed the old man with a grin, as he stood in 
'.he middle of the road with the gate half closed, watchijig the 
cliaise, which rapidly diminished in the increasing distance. 

— not much o’ that either; you’ve lost ten minutes here, 
nr.d gone away as wise as you came arter all. If every man on 
1 )h Inie a.s has a guinea give him earns it half as well, you won’t 
catcii t’other chay this side Mich’lmas, old short and fat.” And 
with another prolonged grin, the -old man closed the gate, re-en- 
tered his house, and bolted the door after him. 


140 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Meanwhile the chaise proceeded, without any slackening of 
pace, towards the conclusion of the stage. The moon, as Wardle 
had foretold, was rapidly on the wane; large tiers of dark heavy 
clouds which had been gradually overspreading the sky for 
some time past, now formed one black mass overhead ; and large 
drops of rain which pattered every now and then against the 
windows of the chaise, and seemed to warn the travelers of tiie 
rapid approach of a stormy night. The wind, too, which was 
directly against them, svrept in furious gusts down the narrow 
road, and howled dismally through the trees which skirted the 
pathway. Mr. Pickwick drew his coat closer about him, coiled 
himself more snugly up into the corner of the chaise, and fell 
into a sound sleep, from which he was only awakened by the 
stopping of the vehicle, the sound of the hostler’s bell, and a 
loud cry of “Horses on directly.” - 

But here another delay occurred. The boys were sleeping 
with such mysterious soundness, that it took five minutes 
apiece to wake them. The hostler had somehow or other mis- 
laid the key of the stable, and even when that was found, two 
sleepy helpers put the wrong harness on the wrong horses, 
and the whole process of harnessing had to be gone through 
afresh. Had Mr. Pickwick been alone, these multii)lied ob- 
stacles would have completely put an end to the pursuit at 
once, but old Wardle was not to be so easily daunted ; and he 
laid about him with such hearty good will, cuffing this man, 
and pushing that; strapping a buckle here, and taking in a 
link there, that the chaise was ready in a much shorter time 
than could reasonably have been expected, under so many diffi- 
culties. 

They resumed their journey ; and certainly the prospect be- 
fore them was by no means encouraging. The stage was fifteen 
miles long, the night was dark, the wdnd high, and the rain 
pouring in torrents. It was impossible to make any great 
way against such obstacles united : it was hard upon one 
o’clock already ; and nearly two hours were consumed in get- 
ting to the end of the stage. Here, however, an object pre- 
sented itself, which rekindled their hopes, and reanimated their 
drooping spirits. 

“When did this chaise come in ?” cried old Wardle, leaping 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


141 


ont of bis own vehicle and pointing to one covered with wet 
raiul, which was standing in the yard. 

“ Xot a quarter of an hour ago, Sir;” replied the hostler, to 
whom the question was addressed. 

“Lady and gentleman inquired Wardle, almost breathless 
with impatience. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“ Tall gentleman — dress coat — long legs — thin body ?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Elderly lady, thin face — rather skinny — eh? 

“Yes, S«*r.” 

“By heavens, it’s them, Pickwick,” exclaimed the old gentle* 
man. 

“Would have been here before,” said the hostler, “but they 
broke a trace.” 

“’Tis them,” said Wardle, “it is, by Jove 1 Chaise and 
four, instantly. We shall catch them yet, before they reach the 
next stage. A guinea apiece, boys — be alive there — bustle 
about — there’s good fellows.” 

And with such admonitions as these, the old gentleman ran 
up and down the yard, and bustled to and fro, in a state of 
excitement which communicated itself to Mr. Pickwick also ; 
and under the influence of which, that gentleman got himself 
into complicated entanglements with harness, and mixed up with 
horses and wheels of chaises in the most surprising manner, 
firmly believing that by so doing, he w^as materially forwarding 
the preparations for their resuming their journey. 

“.Tump in — jump in I” cried old Wardle, climbing into the 
chaise, pulling up the steps, and slamming the door after him. 
“ Come along, make haste. And before Mr. Pickwick knew 
precisely w^hat he w^as about, he felt himself forced in at the 
other door, by one pull from the old gentleman, and one push 
from the hostler ; and off they were again. 

“Ah I we are moving now,” said the old gentleman, exult- 
iogly. They were indeed, as was sufficiently testified to Mr. 
Pickwick, by his constant collisions either with the hard w^ood- 
work of the chaise, or the body of his companion. 

“ Hold up !” said the stout old Mr. Wardle, as Mr. Pick- 
wick dived head foremost into his capacious waistcoat. 


143 


THE PICKWICK PAFEUS. 


** I never did feel such a jolting in mj life,” said Mr. P iclr- 
wick. 

Never mind,” replied his companion, “it’ll soon be over 
Steady, steady.” 

Mr. Pickwick planted himself into his own corner, as firmly 
as he could; and on whirled the chaise faster than ever. 

They had traveled in this way about three miles, when Mr. 
Wardle, who had been looking out of the window for two or 
three minutes, suddenly drew in his face, covered with splashes, 
and exclaimed in breathless eagerness — 

“ Here they are I” 

Mr. Pickwick thrust his head out of his window. Yes : 
there was a chaise and four, a short distance before them, dash- 
ing along at full gallop. 

“ Go on, go on,” almost shrieked the old gentleman. “ Two 
guineas apiece, boys — don’t let ’em gain on us — keep it up — 
keep it up.” 

The horses in the first chaise started on at their utmosi 
speed; and those in Mr. Wardle’s galloped furiously behind 
them. 

“ I see his head,” exclaimed the choleric old man, “ Damme, 
I see his head.” 

* “So do I,” said Mr. Pickwick, “that’s he.” 

Mr. Pickwick was not mistaken. The countenance of Mr. 
Jingle, completely coated with the mud thrown up by the 
wheels, was plainly discernible at the window of his chaise ; and 
the motion of his arm, which he was waving violently towards 
the postillions, denoted that he was encouraging them to in- 
creased exertion. 

The interest was intense. Fields, trees, and hedges, seemed 
to rush past them with the velocity of a whirlwind, so rapid was 
the pace at which they tore along. They were close by the 
side of the first chaise. Jingle’s voice could be plainly heard, 
even above the din of the wheels, urging on the boys. Old 
Mr. Wardle foamed with rage and excitement. He roared out 
scoundrels and villains by the dozen, clenched his fist and shook^ 
it expressly at the object of his indignation ; but Mr. Jingle 
only answered with a contemptuous smile, and replied to his 
menaces by a shout of triumph, as his horses, answering the in- 



THE BREAK-DOWN. — Page 143 . 








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THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


143 


creased application of the whip and spur, broke into a faster 
gallop, and left the pursuers behind. 

Mr. Pickwick had just drawn in his head, and Mr. Wardle, 
exhausted with shouting, liad done the same, when a tremendous 
jolt threw them forward against the front of the vehicle. There 
was a sudden bump — a loud crash — away rolled a wheel, and 
over went the chaise. 

After a very few seconds of bewilderment and confusion, in 
which nothing but the plunging of horses, and breaking oi glass, 
could be made out, Mr. Pickwick felt himself violently pulled 
out from among the ruins of the chaise ; and as soon as he had 
gained his feet, and extricated his head from the skirts of his 
great-coat, which materially impeded the usefulness of his spec- 
tacles, the full disaster of the case met his view. 

Old Mr. Wardle without a hat, and his clothes torn in several 
places, stood by his side, and the fragments of the chaise lay 
scattered at their feet. The post-boys, who had succeeded in 
cutting the traces, were standing, disfigured with mud and dis- 
ordered by hard riding, by the horses’ heads. About a hun- 
dred yards in advance was the other chaise, which had pulled 
up on hearing the crash. The postillions, each with a broad 
grin convulsing his countenance, were viewing the adverse party 
from their saddles, and Mr. Jingle was contemplating the wreck 
from the coach- window, with evident satisfaction. The day 
was just breaking, and the whole scene was rendered perfectly 
visible by the grey light of the morning. 

“ Hallo I” shouted the shameless Jingle, “any body damaged ? 
— elderly gentlemen — ^no light weights — dangerous work — 
very.” 

“You’re a rascal I” roared Wardle. 

“Hal ha I” replied Jingle; and then he added, with a 
knowing wink, and a jerk of the thumb towards the interior of 
the chaise — “ I say — she’s very well — desires her compliments 
. — begs you won’t trouble yourself — love to Tiippy — won’t you 
get up behind ? — drive on, boys.” 

The postilions resumed their proper attitudes, and away 
rattled the chaise, Mr. Jingle fluttering in derision a white 
handkerchief from the coach-window. 

Nothing in the whole adventure, not even the ^ ^ 


141 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


tnrbed the calm and equable current of Mr. Pickwick’s temper. 
The villany, however, which could first borrow money of his 
faithful follower, and then abbreviate his name to “Tuppy,” 
was more than ho could patiently bear. He drew his breath 
hard, and colored up to the very tips of his spectacles, as he 
said, slowly and emphatically — 

“ If ever I meet that man again, I’ll — ” 

‘'Yes, yes,” interrupted Wardle, “that’s all very well : but 
while we stand here, they’ll get their license, and be married in 
London.” 

Mr. Pickwick paused, bottled up his vengeance, and corked 
it down. 

“ How far is it to the next stage ?” inquired Mr. Wardle, of 
one of the boys. 

“ Six mile, ain’t it, Tom ?” 

“ Rayther better.” 

“ Rayther better nor six mile. Sir.” 

“ Can’t be helped,” said Wardle, “ we must walk it, Pick- 
wick.” 

“ No help for It,” replied that truly great man. 

So sending forward one of the boys on horseback, to pro 
cure a fresh chaise and horses, and leaving the other behind to 
take care of the broken one, hir. Pickwick and Mr. Wardle set 
manfully forward on the walk, first tying their shawls round 
their necks, and slouching down their hats to escape as much 
as possible from the deluge of rain, which after a slight cessa« 
lion had again begun to pour heavily down. 


CHAPTER XI. 


CluEARIXG UP ALL DOUBTS (iP ANY EXISTED) OF THE DISIN- 
TERESTEDNESS OF am. jingle’s cuaracter. 

There are in London several old inns, once the head-qnar- 
Icrs of celebrated coaches, in the days when coaches performed 
their journeys in a graver and more solemn manner tlian tliey 
do in these times; but which have now degenerated into little 
more than the abiding and booking-places of country wagons. 
The reader would look in vain for any of these ancient hostel- 
ries, among the Golden Crosses and Bull and Mouths, which 
rear their stately fronts in the improved streets of London. 
If he would light upon any of these old places, he must direct 
his steps to the obscurer quarters of the town ; and there in 
some secluded nooks he will find several, still standing with a 
kind of gloomy sturdiness, amidst the modern innovations 
which surround them. 

In the borough especially, there still remain some half- 
dozen old inns, which have preserved their external fea- 
tures unchanged, and which have escaped alike the rage for 
public improvement, and the encroachments of private specu- 
lation. Great, rambling, queer old places they .are, with gal- 
leries, and passages, and staircases, wide enough and anti- 
quated enough, to furnish materials enough for a hundred 
ghost stories, supposing we should ever be reduced to the 
lamentable necessity of inventing any, and that the world 
should exist long enough to exhaust the innumerable veracious 
legends connected with old London Bridge, and its adjacent 
neighborhood on the Surrey side. 

It was in the yard of one of these inns — of no less celebrated 
a one than the White Hart — that a man was busily employed 
in brushing the dirt off a pair of boots, early on the morning 
succeeding the events narrated in the last chapter. lie waa 
habited in a coarse striped waistcoat, with black calico sleeves, 
10 ( 145 ) 


146 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


and blue glass buttons : drab breeches and leggings, A bright 
red handkerchief was wound in a very loose and unstudied 
style round his neck, and an old white hat was carelessly 
thrown on one side of his head. Tliere were two rows of 
boots before him, one cleaned and the other dirty, and at 
every addition he made to the clean row, he paused from his 
wjrk, and contemplated its results with evident satisfaction. 

I'he yard presented none of that bustle and activity which 
are the usual characteristics of a large coach inn. Three or 
four lumbering wagons, each with a pile of goods beneath its 
ample canopy, about the height of the second-floor window of 
an ordinary house, were stowed away beneath a lofty roof 
whieh extended over one end of the yard ; and another, which 
was probably to commence its journey that morning, was 
drawu out into the oi)en space. A double tier of bedroom 
galleries, with old clumsy balustrades, ran round two sides of 
the straggling area, and a double row of bells to correspond, 
sheltered from the weather by a little slo])ing roof, hung ovei 
the door leading to the bar and coffee-room. Two or three 
gigs and chaise-carts were wheeled up under dilferent little 
sheds and pent-houses; and the occasional heavy tread of a 
cart-horse, or rattling of a chain at the farther end of the yard, 
announced to any body who cared about the matter, that the 
stable lay in that direction. When we add that a few boys in 
smock frocks were lying asleep on heavy packages, wool packs, 
and other articles that were scattered about on heaps of straw, 
we have described as fully as need be, the general appearance 
oi the yard of the White Hart Inn, High Street, Borough, on 
the particular morning in question. 

A loud ringing of one of the bells, was followed by the ap- 
pearance of a smart chambermaid in the upper sleeping gallery, 
who, after tapping at one of the doors, and receiving a reipiest 
from within, called over the balustrades. 

“Sam I” 

“ Hallo,” replied the man with the white hat. 

“ Number twenty-two wants his boots.” 

•■‘Ask number twenty-two, vether hedl have ’em now, or vait 
till he gets ’em,” was the reply. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


147 


“Come, don’t be a fool, Sam,” said the girl, coaxingly, “the 
gentleman wants his boots directly.” 

“ Well, you are a nice young ’ooman for a musical party, you 
are,” said the boot-cleaner. “ Look at these here boots — eleven 
pair o’ boots ; and one shoe as b’longs to number six with the 
wooden leg. The eleven boots is to be called at half-past eight, 
and the shoe at nine. Who’s number twenty-two, that’s to put 
all the others out ? No, no ; reg’lar rotation, as Jack Ketch 
said, ven he tied the men up. Sorry to keep you a waitin’, 
Sir, but I’ll attend to you directly.” 

Saying which, the man in the white hat set to work upon a 
top-boot with increased assiduity. 

There was another loud ring; and the bustling old landlady 
of the White Hart made her appearance in the opposite gal- 
lery. 

“Sam,” cried the landlady, “ where’s, that lazy, idle — why, 
Sam — oh, there you are ; why don’t you answer ?” 

“ Youldn’t be gen-teel to answer, ’till you’d done talking,” 
replied Sam, gruffly. ' 

“ Here, clean them shoes for number seventeen directly, and 
take ’em to private sitting-room, number five, first floor.” 

The landlady flung a pair of lady’s shoes into the yard, and 
bustled away. 

“ Number five,” said Sam, as he picked up the shoes, and 
taking a piece of chalk from his pocket, made a memorandum 
of tlieir destination on the soles — “ Lady’s shoes and private 
sittin’-room 1 I suppose she didn’t come in the vaggin.” 

“ She came in early this morning,” cried the girl, who was 
still leaning over the railing of the gallery, “ with a gentleman 
in a hackney-coach, and it’s him as wants his boots, and you’d 
better do ’em, and that’s all about it.” 

V^y didn’t you say so before,” said Sam, with great indig- 
nation, singling out the boots in question from the heap before 
him. “ For all I know’d ho was one o’ the regular threo- 
pennies. Private room ! and a lady too I If he’s any thing of 
a gen’Im’n, he’s vurth a shillin’ a day, let alone the arrands.” 

Stimulated by this inspiring reflection, Mr. Samuel brushed 
away with such hearty good will, that in a few minutes the boots 
and shoes, with a polish which would have struck envy to the 


148 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


soul of the amiable Mr. Warren, (for they used Day and Martin 
at the White Hart) had arrived at the door of number five. 

“ Come in,” said a man’s voice, in reply to Sam's rap at the 
door. 

Sam made his best bow, and stepped into the presence of a 
iady and gentleman seated at breakfast. Having officiously 
deposited the gentleman’s boots right and left at his feet, and 
the lady’s shoes right and left at hers, he backed towards the 
door. 

‘‘ Boote,” said the gentleman. 

“ Sir,” said Sam, closing the door, and keeping his hand on 
the knob of the lock. 

“ Do you know — what’s-a-name — Doctor’s Commons ?” 

“ Yes, Sir.” 

“ Where is it ?” 

** Paul’s Churchyard, Sir ; low archvay on the carriage-side, 
booksellers at one corner, hot-el on the other, and two porters 
in the middle as touts for licenses.” 

“ Touts for licenses !” said the gentleman. 

“ Touts for licenses,” replied Sam. “ Two coves in vhite 
aprons — touches their hats vhen you walk in — ‘ License, Sir, 
license ?’ Queer sort, them, and their mas’rs, too. Sir — Old 
Bailey Proctors — and no mistake.” 

“ What do they do ?” inquired the gentleman. 

“ Do 1 You, Sir! That ain’t the worst on it, neither. They 
puts things into old gen’lm’ns heads as they never dreamed of. 
My father. Sir, vos a coachman. A vidower he vos, and fat 
enough for any thing — uncommon fat, to be sure. His missus 
dies, and leaves him four hundred pound. Down he goes to 
the Commons — to see the lawyer and draw the blunt — wery 
smart — top-boots on — nosegay in his button-hole — broad- 
brimmed tile — green shawl — quite the gen’lm’n. Goes through 
the archvay, thinking how he should inwest the money — up 
comes the touter, touches his hat — ‘ License, Sir, license ?’ — 
What'n that?’ says my hither. — ‘License, Sir,’ says he. — 
* What license ?” says my father. — ‘ Marriage license,’ says the 
touter. — ‘ Dash my veskit,’ says my father, ‘ I never thought o’ 
that.’— I think you wants one. Sir,’ says the touter. My father 
pulls up, and thinks a bit — ‘ Ko,’ says he, ‘ damme, I’m too old, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


149 


besides I’m a many sizes too large,’ says he . — * Not a bit on it, 
Sir,’ says the toiiter. — ‘ Think not?’ says my fatlier. — ‘ I’m sure 
not,’ says he ; ‘ we married a gen’lm’n twice your size, last 
Monday.’ — ‘Did you, though ?’ says my father. ‘To be sure 
VC did,’ says the touter, ‘you’re a babby to him — this vay. 
Sir — this vay !’ — and sure enough, my father walks arter him, 
like a tame monkey behind a horgan, into a little back oflice, 
vere a feller sat among dirty papers and tin boxes, making 
believe he was busy. ‘ Fray take a seat, vile 1 makes out the 
affidavit, Sir,’ says the lawyer. — ‘ Thankee, Sir,’ says my father, 
and down he sat, and stared vith all his eyes, and his mouth 
vide open, at the names on the boxes. — ‘ What’s your name. 
Sir?’ sa 3 ^s the lawyer. — ‘Tony Weller,’ says my father. — 
‘ I^arish ?’ says the lawyer. — ‘ Delle Savage,’ says my father ; 
for he stopped there ven he drove up, and he know’d nothing 
about parishes, he didn’t. — ‘ And what’s the lady’s name ?’ 
says the lawyer. My father was struck all of a heap. ‘ Bless’d 
if I know,’ says he. — ‘ Not know !’ says the lawyer. — ‘No more 
nor you do,’ says my father, ‘ can’t I put that in arterwards !’ — 
‘ Impossible I” says the lawyer. ‘ Wery well,’ says my fatlier. 
after he’d thought a moment, ‘ put down Mrs. Clarke.’ — ‘ Wliat 
Clarke ?’ says the lawyer, dipping his pen in the ink. — ‘ Susan 
Clarke, Ma^’kis o’ Granby, Dorking,’ says my father ; ‘ she’ll 
have me, if I ask her, I des-say — I never said nothing to her, 
but she’ll have me, I know.’ The license was made out, and 
she did have him, and what’s more she’s got him now ; and 
I never had any of the four hundred pound, worse luck. Beg 
your pardon. Sir,” said Sara, when he had concluded, “ but 
vhen I gets on this here grievance, I runs on like a new bar- 
row with the vheel greased.” Having said which, and having 
paused for an instant to see whether he was wanted for any 
thing more, Sam left the room. 

“ Half-past nine— just the time — off at once said the gen- 

tleman, whom we need hardly introduce as Mr. Jingle. 

“ Time — for what ?” said the spinster aunt, coquettishly. 

“ License dearest of angels — give notice at the church — call 
you mine, to-morrow,” — said Mr. Jingle, and he squeezed the 
Bpinster aunt’s hand. 

^^The license 1” said Rachel, blushing. 


ISO 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“The license,’^ repeated Mr. Jingle. 

“In hury, post-haste for a license, 

In hurry, ding dong I come back.” 

“ How you run on,^’ said Ra:hel. 

“ Run on — nothing to the hours, days, weeks, months, years, 
when we’re united — run on — they’ll fly on — bolt — mizzle — 
steam-engine — thousand horse power — ^nothing to it.” 

“ Can’t — can’t we be married before to-morrow morning?” 
inquired Rachel. 

“ Impossible — can’t be — notice at the church — leave the 
license to-day — ceremony come off to-morrow. ” 

“ I am so terrified, lest my brother should discover us I” said 
Rachel. 

“ Discover — nonsense — too much shaken by the break-down 
— besides — extreme caution — gave up the post-chaise — walked 
on — took a hackney coach — came to the Borough — last place 
in the world that he’d look in — ha 1 ha ! — capital notion that 
. — very. ” 

“ Don’t be long,” said the spinster, affectionately, as Mr. 
Jingle stuck the pinched-up hat on his head. 

“ Long away from ?/ow? — Cruel charmer,” and Mr. Jingle 
skipped playfully up to the spinster aunt, imprinted a chaste 
kiss upon her lips, and danced out of the room. 

“ Dear man 1” said the spinster, as the door closed after 
him. 

“ Rum old girl,” said Mr. Jingle, as he walked dowo the 
passage. 

It is painful to reflect upon the perfidy of our species; and 
we will not, therefore, pursue the thread of Mr. Jingle’s medi- 
tations, as he wended his way to Doctors’ Commons. It will 
l)e sufficient for our purpose to relate, that, escaping the snares 
of the dragons in white aprojis, who guard the entrance to that 
enchanted region, he reached the Yicar-General’s office in safety 
and having procured a highly flattering address on parchment, 
from- the Archbishop of Canterbury, “ to his trusty and well- 
beloved Alfred Jingle and Rachel Wardle, greeting,” he care- 
fully deposited the mystic document in his pocket, and retraced 
bis steps In triumph to the Borough. 



FIRST APPEARANCE OF MR. SAMUEL WELLER. Poge 151 





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THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


151 


He was yet on his way to the White Hart, when two plnmp 
prentlcmen and one thin one, entered the yard, and looked 
round in search of some authorised person of whom they could 
make a few inquiries. Mr. Samuel Weller happened to be at 
that moment engaged in burnishing a pair of painted tops, the 
personal i)roperty of a farmer, who was refreshing himself with 
a slight lunch of two or three pounds of cold beef^, and a pot or 
two of porter, after the fatigues of the Borough market; and 
tc him the thin gentleman straightway advanced — 

“ My friend,” said the thin gentleman. 

Youh’e one o’ the adwice gratis order,” thought Sam, “or 
you wouldn’t be so wery fond o’ meVll at once.” But he 
oidy said — “Well, Sir.” 

“ My friend,” said the thin gentleman, with a conciliatory 
hem — “ Have you got many people stopping here, now ? rretty 
busy. E\\ ?” 

Sam stole a look at the inquirer. He was a little high- 
dried man, with a dark squeezed-up face, and small restless 
black eyes, that kept winking and twinkling on each side of his 
little in uisitive nose, as if they w’ere playing a perpetual game 
of peep-bo with that feature. He was dressed all in black, 
with boots as shiny as his eyes, a low white neckcloth, and a 
clean shirt with a frill to it. A gold watch-chain, and seals, 
depended from his fob. He carried his black kid gloves in his 
hands, not on them; and as he spoke, thrust his wrists beneath 
his coat-tails, with the air of a man who was in the habit of 
propounding some regular posers. 

“ Pretty busy, eh ?” said the little man. 

“Oh, werry well, Sir,” replied Sam, “we shan’t be bank- 
rupts, and we shan’t make our fort’ns. We eats our biled 
mutton without capers, and don’t care for horse-radish ven ve 
can get beef.” 

“ Ah,” said the little man, “you’re a wag, aint you ?” 

“ My eldest brother was troubled with that complaint,” said 
Sam, “it may be catching — I used to sleep with him.” 

“ This is a curious old house of yours,” said the little man, 
looking round him. 

“ If you’d sent word you waTs a coming, we’d ha’ had it ro* 
paired;” replied the imperturbable Sam. , . 


152 


THE PICKWICK PA.PEIIS. 


The little man seemed rather baffled by these several re- 
pulses, and a short consultation took place between liiiii and 
the two plump gentlemen. At its conclusion, the little man 
took a pinch of snuff from an oblong silver box, and was ap- 
parently on the point of renewing the conversation, when one 
of the plump gentlemen, who in addition to a benevolent coun- 
tenance, possessed a pair of spectacles, and a pair of black 
gaiters, interfered. 

“ The fact of the matter is,” said the benevolent gentleman, 
** that my friend here (pointing to the other plump gentleman), 
will give you half a guinea if you’ll answer one or two — ” 

“ Now, my dear Sir — my dear Sir,” said the little man, “ pray 
allow me — my dear Sir, the very first principle to be observed 
in these cases, is this ; if you place a matter in the hands of a 
professional man, you must in no way interfere in the progress 
of the business ; you must repose implicit confidence in him. 
Really, Mr. (he turned to the other plump gentleman, and said) 
— I forget your friend’s name.” 

“ Pickwick,” said Mr. Wardle, for it was no other than that 
jolly* personage. 

“ Ah, Pickwick, — really, Mr. Pickwick, my dear Sir, excuse 
me — I shall be happy to receive any private suggestion of yours, 
as amicus curies, but you must see the impropriety of your inter- 
fering with my conduct in this case, with such an ad captandum 
argument as the offer of half a guinea. Really, my dear Sir, 
really,” and the little man took an argumentative pinch of snuff, 
and looked very profound. 

My only wish. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, “was to bring this 
very unpleasant matter to as speedy a close as possible.” 

“Qniie right — quite right,” said the little man. 

“ With which view,” continued Mr. Pickwick, “ I made use 
of the argument which my experience of men has taught me is 
the most likely to succeed in any case.” 

“ Ay, ay,” said the little man, “ very good, very good, indeea ; 
but you should have suggested it to me. My dear Sir, I’m 
quite certain you cannet be ignorant of the extent of confidence 
which must be placed in professional men. If any authority 
can be necessary on such a point, my dear Sir, let mo refer you 
to the well-known cage in Barnwell, and— 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


153 


“ Nerer mind George Bamvell,” interrupted Sara, who had 
remained a wondering listener during this short colloquy; 
“every body knows vhat sort of a case his was, tho^ it’s always 
been my opinion, mind you, that the young ’ooman deserved 
scragging a precious sight more than he did. Hows’ever, that’s 
neither here nor there. You want me to except of half a guinea. 
Wery well, I’m agreeable; I can’t say no fairer than that, can 
I, Sir? (Mr. Pickwick smiled.) Then the next question is, 
what the devil do you want with me, as the man said ven he seed 
the ghost ?” 

“We want to know,” said Mr. Wardle 

“Now my dear Sir — my dear Sir,” interposed the busy little 
man. 

Mr. Wardle shrugged his shoulders, and was silent. 

“We want to know,” said the little man, solemnly; “and we 
ask the question of you, in order that we may not waken ap- 
prehensions inside — we want to know who you’ve got in this 
house, at present.” 

“ Who there is in the house 1” said Sam, in whose mind the 
inmates were always represented by that particular article of 
their costume, which came under his immediate superintendence. 
“ There’s a vooden leg in number six, there’s a pair of Hessians 
in thirteen, there’s two pair of halves in the commercial, there’s 
these here painted tops in the snuggery inside the bar, and five 
more tops in the coffee-room.” 

“ Nothing more ?” said the little man. 

“ Stop a bit,” replied Sam, suddenly recollecting himself. 
“Yes; there’s a pair of Vellingtons a good deal vorn, and*a 
pair o’ lady’s shoes, in number five.” 

“What sort of shoes?” hastily inquired Wardle, who, to- 
gether with Mr. Pickwick, had been lost in bewilderment at the 
singular catalogue of visitors. 

“ Country make,” replied Sam. 

“ Any maker’s name?” 

“ Brown.” 

“ Where of?’ 

“ Muggleton.^'’ 

“ It is them,” exclaimed W ardle. “ By HeaTens* we’ va fowui 
tham ^ 


164 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** Hush !” said Sam, The Yellingtons has gone to Doc- 
tors’ Commons.” 

“No,” said the little man. 

“ Yes, for a license ” 

“ We’re in time,” exclaimed Wardle. “ Show us the room 
not a moment is to be lost.” 

“Pray, my dear Sir — pray,” said the little man; “caution, 
caution.” He drew from his pocket a red silk purse, and looked 
very liard at Sam as he drew out a sovereign. 

Sam grinned expressively. 

“ Show us into the room at once, without announcing us,” 
said the little man, “and it’s yours.” 

Sam threw the painted tops into a corner, and led the way 
through a dark passage, and up a wide staircase. He paused 
at the end of a second passage, and held out his hand. 

“Here it is,” whispered the attorney, as he deposited the 
money in the hand of their guide. 

The man stepped forward for a few paces, followed by the 
two friends and their legal adviser. He stopped at a door. 

“ Is this the room ?” murmured the little gentleman. 

Sam nodded assent. 

Old Wardle opened the door ; and the whole three walked 
into the room just as Mr. Jingle, who had that moment re- 
turned, had produced the license to the spinster aunt. 

The si)inster uttered a loud shriek, and, throwing herself in 
a chair, covered her face with her hands. Mr. Jingle crumpled 
up the license, and thrust it into his coat pocket. The unwel- 
come visitors advanced into the middle of the room. 

“ You — you are a nice rascal, ar’n’t you ?” exclaimed War- 
dle, breathless with passion. 

“ My dear Sir, my dear Sir,” said the little man, laying his 
hat on the table. “ Pray consider — pray. Scandal um mag- 
naliim, defamation of character, action for damages. Calm 
yourself, my dear Sir, pray ” 

“ How t>ire you drag my sister from my house ?” said the 
old man. 

“ Ay— ay — very good,” said the little gentleman, “you may 
ask that.. How dare you^ Sir ? — eh. Sir ?” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


156 


a tone, that the little- gentleman involuntarily fell back a step 
or two. 

“Who is he, you scoundrel,” interposed Wardle. “Ile’a 
my lawyer, Mr. Perker, of Gray’s Inn. Perker, I’ll have this 
fellow prosecuted — indicted — I’ll — I’ll — damme, I’ll ruin him. 
And you,” continued Mr. Wardle, turning abruptly round to 
his sister, “ you, Rachel, at a time of life when you ought to 
know better, what do you mean by running away with a vaga* 
bond, disgracing your family, and making yourself miserable. 
Get on your bonnet and come back. Call a hackney coach 
there, directly, and bring this lady’s bill, d’ye hear — d’ye hear 1” 

“ Cert’nly, Sir,” replied Sam, who had answered Wardle’s 
violent ringing of the bell with a degree of celerity, which must 
have appeared marvelous to any body who didn’t know that 
his eye had been applied to the outside of the keyhole during 
the whole interview. 

“ Get on your bonnet,” repeated Wardle. 

“ Do nothing of the kind,” said Jingle. “ Leave the room. 
Sir — no business here — lady’s free to act as she pleases — more 
than one-and-twenty.” 

“ More than one-and-twenty,” ejaculated Wardle, contemp- 
tuously. “More than one-and-forty.” 

“ I ain’t,” said the spinster aunt, her indignation getting the 
better of her determination to faint. 

“ Vou are,” replied Wardle, “you’re fifty if you’re an hour.” 

Here the spinster aunt uttered a loud shriek, and became 
senseless. 

“ A glass of water,” said the humane Mr. Pickwick, sum- 
moning the landlady. 

“ A glans of water ?” said the passionate Wardle. “ Bring a 
bucket, and throw it all over her : it’ll do her good, and she 
richly deserves it.” 

“ Ugh, you brute I” ejaculated the kind-hearted landlady. 
* Poor dear !” And with sundry ejaculations, of “ Come now, 
there’s a dear — driiiK a little of this — it’ll do you good — don’t 
give way so — there’s a love,” &c., Ac., the lady, assisted by a 
chainber-inaid. proceeded to vinegar the forehead, beat the 
hands, titillate the nose, and unlace the stays of the spinster 
aunt, and to administer such other restoratives as are usually 




THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


applied by compassionate females to ladies who arc endeavoring 
to ferment themselves into hysterics. 

“ Coach is ready, Sir,” said Sam, appearing at the door. 

“ Come along,” cried Wardle. “ I’ll carry lier down stairs.” 

At this proposition, the hysterics came on with redoubled 
violence. 

The landlady was about entering a very violent protest 
against this proceeding, and had already given vent to an in- 
dignant inquiry whether Mr. Wardle considered himself a lord 
of the creation, when Mr. Jingle interposed — 

Boots,” said he, “ get me an officer.” 

“ Stay, stay,” said little Mr. Perker. “ Consider, Sir, con- 
sider.” 

“I’ll not consider,” replied Jingle, “she’s her own mistress 
— see who dares to take her away — unless she wishes it.” 

“ I won't be taken away,” murmured the spinster annt. “I 
don't wish it.” (Here there was a frightful relapse.) 

“ My dear Sir,” said the little man in a low tone, taking Mr. 
Wardle and Mr. Pickwick apart: “ My dear Sir, we’re in a 
very awkward situation. It’s a distressing case — very ; I never 
knew one more so ; but really, my dear Sir, really, w'e have no 
power to control this lady’s actions. I warned you before we 
came, my dear Sir, that there was nothing to look to but a 
compromise.” 

There was a short pause. 

“ What kind of compromise would you recommend ?” inquired 
Mr. Pickwick. 

“Why, my dear Sir, our friend’s in an unpleasant position — 
very much so. We must be content to suffer some pecuniary 
loss. ” 

‘ I’ll suffer any, rather than submit to this disgrace, and let 
her, fool as she is, be made miserable for life,” said Wardle. 

“ I rather think it can be done,” said the bustling little man. 
“Mr. Jingle, will you step with us into the next room for a 
moment ?” 

Mr. Jingle assented, and the quartette walked into an empty 
apartment. 

“Now, Sir,” said the little man, as he carefully closed the 
door, “ is there no way of accommodating this matter— step this 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


167 


way, Sir, for a moment — into this window, Sir, where wc can 
be alone — there, Sir, there, pray sit down. Sir. Now, my dear 
Sir, between you and I, we know very well, my dear Sir, that 
you have run off with this lady for the sake of her money. 
Don’t frown, Sir, don’t frown; I say, between you and I, we 
know it. We are both men of the world, aud we know very 
well that our friends here are not — eh 

Mr. Jingle’s face gradually relaxed ; and something dis- 
tantly resembling a wink, quivered for an instant in his left eye. 

“Very good, very good,” said the little man, observing the 
impression he had made. “Now, the fact is, that beyond a 
few hundreds, the lady has little or nothing till the death of her 
mother — fine old lady, my dear Sir.” 

“OW,” said Mr. Jingle briefly but emphatically. 

“ Why, yes,” said the attorney, with a slight cough. “ You 
are right, my dear Sir, she is rather old. She comes of an old 
family though, my dear Sir; old in every sense of the word. 
The founder of that family came into Kent when Julius Ca3sar 
invaded Britain; — only one member of it, since, who hasn’t 
lived to eighty-five, and he was beheaded by one of the Henry’s. 
The old lady is not seventy-three now, my dear Sir.” The little 
man paused, and took a pinch of snuff. 

“Well,” cried Mr. Jingle. 

“ Well, my dear Sir — you don’t take snuff? — ah I so much 
the better — expensive habit — well, my dear Sir, you’re a fine 
young man, man of the world — able to push your fortune, if 
you had capital, eh ?” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Jingle, again. 

“ Do you comprehend me ?” 

“Not quite.” 

“ Don’t you think — now, my dear Sir, I put it to you, donH 
you think — that fifty pounds and liberty, would be better than 
Miss AVardle and expectation ?” 

“ Won’t do — not half enough I” said Mr. Jingle, rising 

“ Nay, nay, my dear Sir,” remonstrated the little attorney, 
seizing him by the button. “Good round sum — a man like 
you could treble it in no tine — great deal to be done with fifty 
pounds, my dear Sir.” 


168 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS, 


‘‘More to be done with a hundred and fifty, replied Mr 
Jingle, coolly. 

“ Well, my dear Sir, we won’t waste time splitting straws,” 
resumed the little man, say — say — seventy.” 

“ Won’t do,” said Mr. Jingle. 

“Don’t go away, my dear Sir — pray don’t hurry,” said 
the little man. “Eighty come; I’ll write you a cheque at 
once.” 

“ Won’t do,” said Mr. Jingle. 

“Well, my dear Sir, well,” said the little man, still detaining 
him ; “just tell me what will do.” 

“ Expensive affair,” said Mr. Jingle. “ Money out of pocket 
—posting, nine pounds ; license, three — that’s twelve — com])en- 
sation, a hundred — hundred and twelve — ^breach of honor and 
loss of the lady — ” 

“ Yes, my dear Sir, yes,” said the little man, with a knowing 
look, “ never mind the last two items. That’s a hundred and 
twelve — say a hundred — come.” 

“And twenty,” said Mr. Jingle. 

“ Come, come. I’ll write you a cheque,” said the little man ; 
and down he sat at the table for that purpose. 

“ I’ll make it payable the day after to-morrow,” said the 
little man, with a look towards Mr. Wardle; “and we can get 
the lady away, meanwhile.” Mr. Wardle sullenly nodded 
assent. 

“A hundred,” said the little man. 

“And twenty,” said Mr. Jingle. 

“My dear Sir,” remonstrated the little man. 

“ Give it him,” interposed Mr. Wardle, “and let him go.” 

The cheque was written by the little gentleman, and pocketed 
by Mr. Jingle. 

“Now, leave this house instantly I” said Wardle, starting up. 

“ My dear Sir,” urged the little man. 

“And mind,” said jNlr. Wardle, “that nothing shotdd have 
induced me to make tliis compromise — not even a regard for 
iny family — if I had not known, that tiie moment you got any 
money h\ tliat ])ocket of yours, you’d go to the devil faster, if 
possible, than you would without it — ” 

“ My dear Sir,” urged the little man again. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Ib9 


quiet, Perker,^’ resumed Wardle. “Leave the room, 

Sir.” 

“OIT directly,” said the unabashed Jingle, “bye — bye — 
Pickwick.” 

If any dispassionate spectator could have beheld the coun- 
tenance of the illustrious man, whose name forms the lending 
feature of the title of this work, during the latter part of this 
conversation, he would have been almost induced to wonder 
that the indignant fire which flashed from his eyes, did not 
melt the glasses of his spectacles — so majestic was his wrath. 
11 is nostrils dilated, and his fists clenched involuntarily, as he 
heard himself addressed by the villain. But he restrained him- 
self again — he did not pulverise him. 

“ Here,” continued the hardened traitor, tossing the license 
at Mr. Pickwick’s feet; “get the name altered — take home the 
lady — do for Tuppy.” 

Mr. Pickwick was a philosopher, but philosophers are only 
men in armor, after all. The shaft had reached him, pene- 
trated through his })hilosophical harness, to his very heart. In 
the frenzy of liis rage, he hurled the inkstand madly forward, 
and followed it up himself. But Mr. Jingle had disappeared, 
and he found himself caught in the arms of Sam. 

“Hallo,” said that eccentric functionaiy, “ furniter’s cheap 
vere you come from. Self-acting ink, that ’ere ; it’s wrote 
your mark ii])on the wall, old gen’lm’n. Hold .still. Sir; wot’s 
the use o’ runnin’ arter a man as has made his lucky, and got 
to t’other end of the Borough by this time.” 

Mr. I’ick wick’s mind, like those of all truly great men, was 
Oj)en to conviction. He was a quick and powerful reasoner ; 
and a moment’s reflection sufficed to remind him of the im|)o- 
tency of his rage. It subsided as quickly as it had been 
roused. He panted for breath, and looked benignantly round 
irpon his friends. 

Sliall we tell the lamentations that ensued, when Miss 
Wardle found herself deserted by the faithless Jingle ? Shall 
we extract Mr. Pickwick’s masterly description of that hei.vt- 
imuling scene ? His note-book, blotted with tears of sym])a- 
liiising humanity, lies open before us ; one word, and it is in 
the printer’s hands. But, no I we will be resolnte 1 We will 


160 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


not wring the public bosom, with the delineation of such 
suffering I 

Slowly and sadly did the two friends and the deserted lady, 
return next day in the Muggieton heavy coach. Dimly and 
darkly had the sombre shadows of a summer’s night fallen upon 
all around, when they again reached Dingley Dell, and stood 
within the entrance to Manor Farm. 


CHAPTER XII. 


INVOLVING ANOTHER JOURNEY, AND AN ANTIQUARIAN DISCO 
VERY. RECORDING MR. PICKWICK’S DETERMINATION TO BB 
PRESENT AT AN ELECTION ; AND CONTAINING A MANUSCRIPT 
OF THE OLD CLERGYMAN’S. 

A NIGHT of quiet and repose in the profound silence of 
Dingley Dell, and an hour’s breathing of its fresh and fragrant 
air on the ensuing morning, completely recovered Mr. Pick- 
wick from the effects of his late fatigue of body and anxiety 
of mind. That illustrious man had been separated fi*om his 
friends and followers, for two whole days ; and it was with a 
degree of pleasure and delight, which no common imagination 
can adequately conceive, that he stepped forward to greet 
Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass, as he encountered those gen- 
tlemen on his return from his early walk. The pleasure was 
mutual ; for who could ever gaze on Mr. Pickwick’s beaming 
face without experiencing the sensation ? But still a cloud 
seemed to hang over his companions which that great man 
could not but be sensible of, and was wholly at a loss to account 
for. There was a mysterious air about them both, as unusual 
as it was alarming. 

And how,” said Mr. Pickwick, when he had grasped his 
followers by the hand, and exchanged warm salutations of 
W’elcome ; “ how is Tupman ?” 

Mr. Winkle, to whom the question was more peculiarly 
addressed, made no reply. He turned away his head, and 
appeared absorbed in melancholy reflection. 

” Snodgrass,” said Mr. Pickwick, earnestly, “ how is our 
friend — he is not ill ?” 

“ No,” replied Mr. Snodgrass; and a tear trembled on his 
sentimental eyelid, like a rain-drop on a window-frame. “ No; 
he is not ill ?” 

11 


( 161 ) 


1C2 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Mr. Pickwick stopped, and gazed on each of his friends in 
turn. 

Winkle — Snodgrass,” said Mr. Pickwick : “ what docs 
this mean ? Where is onr friend ? What has happened ? 
Sj)eak — I conjure, I entreat — nay, I oonimand you, s})eak. ” 

There was a solemuity — a dignity — in Mr. IMckwick’s man- 
ner, not to be withstood. 

“ He is gone,” said Mr. Snodgrass. 

Gone rv exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. ** Gone 

“ Gone,” repeated Mr. Snodgrass. 

“ Where ?” ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. 

“We can only guess from that communication,” replied 
Mr. Snodgrass, taking a letter from his pocket, and placing 
it in his friend’s hand. “ Yesterday morning, w hen a letter 
was received from Mr. Wardle, stating that you would be 
home with his sister at night, the melancholy w'hich had hung 
over our friend during the whole of the previous day, was 
observed to increase. He shortly afterwards disappeared : 
he was missing during the whole day, and in the evening this 
letter was brought by the hostler from the Crown, at MuggK- 
'‘ton. It had been left in his charge in the moniing, with a 
strict injunction that it should not be delivered until night.” 

Mr. Pickwick opened the epistle. It was in his friend’s 
hand-writing, and these were its contents : 

“ My dear Pickwick, 

“ You, my dear friend, are placed far beyond the reach of 
many mortal frailties and weaknesses which ordinary people 
cannot overcome. You do not know what it is, at one blow, 
to be deserted by a lovely and fascinating creature, and to fall 
a victim to the artifices of a villain, who bid the grin of cunning 
beneath the mask of friendship. I hope you never may. 

“Any letter addressed to me at the Leather Bottle, Cobham, 
fCeiit, will be forwarded — supposing I still exist. I hasten from 
the sight of the world, which has become odious to me. 
Should I hasten from it altogether, pity^ — forgive me. Life, 
my dear Pickwick, has become insupportable to me. The spirit 
which burns within us, is a porter’s knot, on which to rest the 
heavy load of worldly cares and troubles j and when that spirit 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


163 


fails ns, the burden is too heavy to be borne. We sink beneath 
it. You may tell Rachel — Ah, that name ! — 

“Tracy Tupman.-’ 

“We must leave this place, directly,” said Mr. Pickwick, as 
he reluided the note “ It would not have been decent for us 
lo remain here, under any circumstances, after what has ha[»* 
pened ; and iiow we are bound to follow in search of .our friend.” 
And so saying, he led the way to the house. 

llis intention was rapidly communicated. The entreaties 
to remain were pressing, but Mr. Pickwick was indexible. 
Business, he said, required his immediate attendance. 

The old clergyman was present. 

“ You are not really going?” said he, taking Mr. Pickwick 
aside. 

Mr. Pickwick reiterated his former determination. 

“Then here,” said the old gentleman, “is a little manuscript, 
which I had hoped to have the pleasure of reading to you my- 
self. I found it on the death of a friend of mine — a medical 
man, engaged in our County Lunatic Asylum — among a variety 
of papers, which I had the option of destroying :)r preserving, 
as 1 thought proper. I can hardly believe that the manuscript is 
genuine, though it certainly is not in my friend’s hand. However, 
whether it be the genuine production of a maniac, or founded 
upon the ravings of some unhappy being, which I think more 
probable ; read it and judge for yourself.” 

Mr. Pickwick received the manuscript, and parted from the 
benevolent old gentleman with many expressions of good-will 
and esteem. 

It was a more diflScult task to take leave of the inmates of 
Manor Farm, from whom they had received so much hosi)itality 
and kindness. Mr. Pickwick kissed the young ladies — we were 
going to say, as if they were his own daughters, only as he 
might possibly have infused a little more warmth into the salu- 
tation, the comparison would not be quite appropriate — hugged 
the old lady with filial cordiality ; and patted the rosy cheeks 
of tlie female servants in a most patriarchal manner, as he 
slipped into the hands of each, some more substantial expres- 
sions 01 his approval. The exchange of cordialities with their 


104 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


fine old host and Mr. Trundle, was even more hearty and pro- 
longed: and it was not until Mr. Snodgrass had been several 
times called for and at last emerged from a dark passage, fol- 
lowed soon after by Emily (whose bright eyes looked unusually 
dim), that the three friends were enabled to tear themselves from 
their friendly entertainers. Many a backward look they gave 
at the Farm, as they walked slowly away : and many a kiss did 
Mr. Snodgrass waft in the air, in acknowledgment of something 
very like a lady’s handkerchief, which was waved from one of 
the upper windows, until a turn of the lane hid the old house 
from their sight. 

At Muggleton they procured a conveyance to Rochester. 
By the time they reached the last-named place, the violence of 
their grief had sufficiently abatecT to admit of their making a 
very excellent early dinner; and having procured the necessary 
information relative to the road, the three friends set forward 
again in the afternoon to walk to Cobham. 

A delightful walk it was: for it was a pleasant afternoon in 
June, and the way lay through a deep and shady wood, cooled 
by the light wind which gently rustled the thick foliage, and en- 
livened by the songs of the birds that perched upon the boughs. 
Tlie ivy and the moss cre})t in thick clusters over the old trees, 
and the soft green turf overspread the ground like a silken mat. 
They emerged upon an open park, with an ancient hall, display- 
ing the quaint and picturesque architecture of Elizabeth’s time. 
Long vistas of stately oaks and elm trees appeared on every 
side ; large herds of deer were cropping the fresh grass ; and 
occasionally a startled hare scoured along the ground, with the 
speed of the shadows thrown by the light clouds which sweep 
across a sunny landscape like a passing breath of summer. 

“ If this,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him, — “ if this 
were the place to which all who are troubled with our friend’s 
complaint came, I fancy their old attachment to this world 
would very soon return.” 

“ I think so too,” said Mr. Winkle. 

“And really,” added Mr. Pickwick, after half an hour’s walk- 
ing had brought them to the village, “ really, for a misan- 
thrope’s choice, this is one of the prettiest and most desirable 
places of residence I ever met with.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


108 


In this opinion also, both Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass 
expressed their coucuiTeiice ; and having been directed to the 
Leather Bottle, a clean and commodious village ale-house, the 
three travelers entered, and at once inquired for a gentleman of 
the name of Tupman. 

“Show the gentlemen into the parlor, Tom,’^ said the land 
lady. 

A stout country lad opened a door at the end of the passage 
and the three frieuds entered a long, low-roofed room, furnished 
with a large number of high-backed leather-cushioned chairs, 
of fantastic shapes, and embellished with a great variety of old 
portraits and roughly colored prints of some antiquity. At 
the upper end of the room was a table, with a white cloth upon 
it, well covered with a roast fowl, bacon, ale, and et ceteras j 
and at the table sat Mr. Tupman, looking as unlike a man who 
had taken his leave of the world, as possible. 

On the entrance of his friends, that gentleman laid down his 
knife and fork, and with a mournful air advanced to meet them. 

“ 1 did not expect to see you here,” he said, as he grasped 
Mr. Pickwick’s hand. “It’s very kind.” 

“Ah!” said Mr. Pickwick, sitting down, and wiping from his 
forehead the perspiration which the walk had engendered 
“ Finish your dinner, and walk out with me. I wish to speak 
to you alone.” 

Mr. Tu})man did as he was desired; and Mr. Pickwick having 
refreshed himself with a copious draught of ale, waited his 
friend’s leisure. The dinner was quickly despatched, and they 
walked out together. 

For half an hour their forms might have been seen pacing 
the churchyard to and fro, while Mr. Pickwick was engaged 
in’ combatting his companion’s resolution. Any repetition of his 
arguments would be useless ; for what language could convey 
to them that energy and force which their great originator’s 
manner communicated ? Whether Mr. Tupman was already 
tired of retirement, or whether he was wholly unable to resist 
the eloquent appeal which was made to him, matters not ; he 
did not resist it at last. 

“ It mattered little to him,’^ he said, ** where he dragged out 
the miserjible remainder of his days ; and since his friend laid so 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


much stress upon his humble companionship, he was willing to 
share his adventures.” 

Mr. Pickwick smiled ; they shook hands ; and walked back 
to rejoin their companions. 

It was at this moment that Mr. Pickwick made that immor- 
tal discovery, which has been the pride and boast of his friends, 
and the envy of every antiquarian in this or any other country. 
They had passed the door of their inn, and walked a little way 
down the village, before they recollected the precise spot in 
which it stood. As they turned back, Mr. Pickwick’s eye fell 
upon a small broken stone, partially buried in the ground, in 
front of a cottage-door. He paused. 

“ This is very strange,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ What is strange ?” inquired Mr. Tupman, staring eagerly 
at every object near him, but the right one. “ God bless me, 
what’s the matter ?” 

This last was an ejaculation of irrepressible astonishment, 
occasioned by seeing Mr. Pickwick, in his enthusiasm for dis- 
covery, fall on his knees before the little stone, aud commence 
wiping the dust off it with his pocket handkerchief. 

“ There is an inscription here,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Is it possible I” said Mr. Tupman. 

“ I can discern,” continued Mr. Pickwick, rubbing awmy with 
all his might, and gazing intently through his spectacles: “ 1 can 
discern a cross, and a B. and then a T. This is important,” 
continued Mr. Pickwick, startij)g up. “ This is some very old 
inscription, existing perhaps long before the ancient alms-houses 
in this place. It must not be lost.” 

He tapped at the cottage-door. A laboring man opened it. 

“ Do you know how this stone came here, my friend ?” in- 
quired the benevolent Mr. Pickwick. 

“ No, I doan’t. Sir,” replied the man, civilly. “ It was here 
long afore I war born, or any on us.” 

Mr. Pickwick glanced triumphantly at his companion. 

“ You — you — are not particularly attached to it, 1 dare say,” 
said Mr. Pickwdck, trembling with anxiety. “ You w'ouldu’t 
mind selling it, now ?” 

“ Ah I but who’d buy it ?” inquired the man, with an expres- 
sion of face which he probably meant to be very cunning. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


167 


** I’ll give you ten shillings for it, at once,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick, “ if you would take it up for me.” 

Tlie astonishment of the village may be easily imagined, when 
(the little stone having been raised with one wrench of a spade), 
Mr. Pickwick, by dint of great personal exertion, bore it with 
his own hands to the inn, and after having carefully washed it, 
deposited it on the table. 

The exultation and joy of the Pickwickians knew no bounds, 
when their patience and assiduity, their washing and scraping, 
were crowned with success. The stone was uneven and broken, 
and the letters were straggling and irregular, but the following 
fragment of an inscription was clearly to be deciphered ; 

+ 

B I L S T 
U M 

P S H I 
S, M. 

ARK 

Mr. Pickwick’s eyes sparkled with delight, as he sat and 
gloated over the treasure he had discovered. He had attained 
one of the greatest objects of his ambitfon. In a county known 
to abound in remains of the early ages ; in a village in which 
there still existed some memorials of the olden time, he — ^he, the 
Chairman of the Pickwick Club — had discovered a strange and 
curious inscription of unquestionable antiquity, which had wholly 
escaped the observation of the many learned men who had pre- 
ceded him. He could hardly trust the evidence of his senses. 

“This — this,” said he, “determines me. We return to town 
to-morrew.” 

“To-morrow I” exclaimed his admiring followers. 

“ To-morrow,” said Mr. Pickwick. “This treasure must be 
at once deposited where it can be thoroughly investigated, and 
properly understood. I have another reason for this step. In 
a few days, an election is to take place for the borough of Eatans- 
will, at vvdiicli Mr. Perker, a gentleman whom I lately met, is 
the agent of one of the candidates. We will behold, and minutely 
examine, a scene so interesting to every Englishman.” 


168 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“We Tvill,” was the animated cry of three voices. 

Mr. Pickwick looked round him. The attacliment and fervol 
of his followers, lighted up a glow of enthusiasm within him. 
II j was their leader, and he felt it. 

“ Let us celebrate this h ippy meeting, with a convivial glass,” 
said he. This propositioti, like the other, was received with 
unaniinous applause. And having himself deposited the impor- 
tant stone in a small deal box, purchased from the landlady for 
the purpose, he placed himself in an arm chair at the head of 
the table; and the evening was devoted to festivity and conver- 
sation. 

It was past eleven o’clock — a late hour for the little village 
of Cobham — when Mr. Pickwick retired to the bed-room which 
had been repaired for his reception. He threw open the lattice- 
window, and setting his light upon the table, fell into a train of 
meditation on the hurried events of the two preceding days. 

The hour and the place were both favorable to contemplation; 
Mr Pickwick was roused by the church-clock stricking twelve. 
The first stroke of the hour sounded solemnly in his ear, but 
when the bell ceased the stillness seemed insupportable; — he 
almost felt as if he had lost a com])anion. He was nervous and 
excited ; ail'd hastily undressing himself, and placing his light in 
the chimney, got into bed. 

Every one has experienced that disagreeable state of mind, in 
which a seihsation of bodily weariness in vain contends against an 
inability to sleep. It was Mr. Pickwick’s condition at this 
moment : he tossed first on one side and then on the other ; and 
perseveringly closed his eyes as if to coax himself to slumber. 
It was of no use. Whether it was the unwonted exertion he 
had undergone, or the heat, or the brandy and v.'ater, or the 
strange bed — whatever it was, his thoughts kept reverting veiy 
uncomfortably to the grim pictures down stairs, and the old 
stories to vvliich they had given rise in the course of the evening. 
After liulf an hour’s tumbling about, became to the unsatisfactory 
conciiisioi . that it was of no use trying to sleep; so he got up 
and luirtially dre.ssed himself. Any thing, he thought, was bet 
ter than lying there, fancying all kinds of horrors, lie looked 
out of the window — it was very dark. He walked about the 
room — it was very lonely. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


169 


He had taken a few turns from the door to the window, and 
from the window to the door, when the clergyman’s manuscript 
for the first time entered his head. It was a good thoiiglit. If 
it failed to interest him, it might send him to sleep, lie took it 
from his coat-pocket, and drawing a small table towards his bed- 
side, trimmed the light, put on his spectacles, and composed 
himself to read. It was a strange hand-writing, and the paper 
was much soiled and blotted. The title gave him a sudden 
start, too ; and he could not avoid casting a wistful glance round 
the room. Reflecting on the absurdity of giving way to such 
feelings, however he trimmed the light again, and read as fol- 
lows : 

A MADMAN’S MANUSCRIPT. 

“Yes I — a madman’s 1 How that word would have struck to 
my heart, many years ago I How it would have roused the ter- 
ror that used to come upon me sometimes, sending the blood 
hissing and tingling through my veins, till the cold dew of fear 
stood in large drops upon my skin, and my knees knocked 
together with fright! I like it now, though. It’s a fine name. 
Show me the monarch whose angry frown was ever feared like 
the glare of a madman’s eye — whose cord and axe, were ever 
half so sure as a madman’s gripe. Ho ! ho ! It’s a grand thing 
to be mad 1 to be peeped at like a wild lion through the iron bars — 
to gnash one’s teeth and howl, through the long still night, to 
the merry ring of a heavy chain — and to roll and twine among 
the straw, transported with such brave music. Hurrah for the 
mad-house 1 Oh it’s a rare place ! 

“ I remember days when I was afraid of being mad ; when 
I used to start from my sleep, and fall upon my knees, and 
pray to ifb spared from the curse of my race ; when I rushed 
from the sight of merriment or happiness, to hide myself in 
some lonely place, and spend the weary hours in watching the 
progress of the fever that was to consume my brain. I knew 
that madness was mixed up with my very blood, and the mar- 
row of my bones ; that one generation had passed away without 
the pestilence appearing among them, and that I was the first 
in whom it would revive. I knew it must be so : that so it 
always had been, and a: it ever would be ; and when I cowered 


170 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


in some obscure corner of a crowded room, and saw men whis- 
per, and point, and turn their eyes towards me, I knew the^ 
were telling each other of the doomed madman ; and I slunk 
away again to mope in solitude. 

“ r did this for years ; long, long years they were. The 
nights, here, are long sometimes — very long ; but they are 
nothing to the restless nights, and dreadful dreams I had at 
that time. It makes me cold to remember them. Large dusky 
forms, with sly and jeering faces, crouched in the corners of the 
room, and bent over my bed at night, tempting me to madness. 
They told me in low whispers, that the floor of the old house in 
which my father’s father died, was stained with his own blood, 
shed by his own hand in raging madness. I drove my fingers 
into my ears, but they screamed into my head till the room rang 
with it, that in one generation before him the madness slum- 
bered, but that his grandfather had lived for years with his 
hands fettered to the ground, to prevent his tearing himself to 
pieces. I knew they told the truth — I knew it well. I had 
found it out years before, though they had tried to keep it from 
me. Ha I ha I I was too cunning for them, madman as they 
thought me. 

“ At last it came upon me, and I wondered how I could ever 
have feared it. I could go into the world now, and laugh and 
shout with the best among them. I knew I was mad, but they 
did not even suspect it. — How I used to hug myself with 
delight, when I thought of the fine trick I was playing them 
after their old pointing and leering, when I was not mad, but 
only dreading that I might one day become so ! And how 
I used to laugh for joy when I was alone, and thought how 
well I kept my secret, and how quickly my kind friends would 
have fallen from me, if they had known the truth. could 
have screamed with ecstasy when I dined alone with some fine 
roaring fellow, tc think how pale he would have turned, and 
how fast he would have run, if he had known that the dear 
friend who sat close to him, shar])ening a bright glittering 
knife, was a madman with all the power, and half the will, to 
plunge it in his heart. Oh, it was a merry life ! 

“ Kiohes became mine, wealth poured in u])on me, and I 
rioted in pleasures enhanced a thousand fold to me by the con- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


171 


8ciousn«?s of my well-kept secret. I inherited an estate. The 
law — the eagle-eyed law itself, had been deceived, and l»ad 
handed over disputed thousands to a madman’s hands. Where 
was the wit of the sharp-sighted men of sound mind ? Where 
the dexterity of the lawyers, eager to discover a flaw ? The 
uiadinau’j cunning had overreached them all. 

I had money. How I was courted I I spent it profusely. 
How I was praised! How those three proud overbearing bro- 
thers humbled themselves before me 1 The old white-headed 
father, too — such deference — such respect — such devoted friend- 
ship — why he worshipped me. The old mau had a daughter, 
and the young men a sister ; and all the five were poor. I was 
rich ; and when I married the girl, I saw a smile of triumph 
play upon the faces of her needy relatives, as they thought of 
their well-planned scheme, and their fine prize. It was for me 
to smile. To smile ! To laugh outright, and tear my hair, 
and roll upon the ground with shrieks of merriment. — They 
little thought they had married her to a madman. 

“ Stay. If they had known it, would they have saved her f 
A sister^s happiness against her husband’s gold. The lightest 
feather I blow into the air, against the gay chain that orna- 
ments my body I 

“ In one thing I was deceived with all my cunning. " If I 
had not been mad — for though we madmen are sharp-witted 
enough, we get bewildered sometimes — I should have known 
that tlie girl would rather have been placed, stiff and cold in a 
dull leaden coffin, than borne an envied bride to my rich, glit- 
tering house. I should have known that her heart was with 
the dark-eyed boy whose name I once heard her breathe in her 
troubled sleep; and that she had been sacrificed to me, to 
relieve the poverty of the old white-headed man, and the haughty 
brothers. 

‘ 1 don’t remcirber forms or faces now, but I know the girl 
was beautiful. I she was; for in the bright moonlight 

nights, when I start up from my sleep, and all is quiet about 
me, I sec, standing still and motionless in one corner of this 
ceil, a slight and wasted figure with long black hair, which, 
streaming down her back, stirs with no earthly wind, and eyes 
that fix their gaze on me, and never wink or close. Hush I 


172 THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

the blood chills at my heart as I write it down — ^that form is 
hers; the face is very pale, and the eyes are glassy bright; but 
1 know them well That figure never moves; it never frowns 
and mouths as others do, that fill this place sometimes; but it is 
much more dreadful to me, even than the spirits tiiat temjU(!d 
me many years ago — it comes fresh from the grave ; and is .jo 
very deathlike. 

“ For nearly a year I saw that face grow paler ; for nearly a 
year, I saw the tears steal down the mournful cheeks, and never 
knew the cause. I found it out at last, though. They could 
not keep it from me long. She had never liked me; I had 
never thought she did; she despised my wealth, and hated ihe 
splendor in which she lived; I had not expected that. She 
loved another. This I had never thought of. Strange feelings 
came over me, and thoughts forced upou me by some secret 
power, whirled round and round my brain. I did not hate her, 
though I hated the boy she still wept for. I pitied — yes, I 
pitied — the wretched life to which her cold and selfish relations 
had doomed her. I knew that she could not live long, but the 
thought that before her death she might give birth to s«me ill- 
fated being, destined to hand down madness to its offspring, 
determined me. I resolved to kill her. 

“ For many weeks I thought of poison, and then of drowning, 
and then of fire. A fine sight the grand house in flames, and 
the madman*s wife smouldering away to cinders. Think of the 
jest of a large reward, too, and of some sane man swinging in 
the wind for a deed he never did, and all through a madman’s 
cunning! I thought often of this, but I gave it up at last. 
Oh ! the pleasure of stropping the razor day after day, feeling 
the sharp edge, and thinking of the’ gash one stroke of its thin, 
bright point would make! 

“ At last the old spirits who had been with me so often be- 
fore, whispered in my ear that the time was come, and thrust 
the open razor into my hand. I grasped it firmly, rose softly 
from the bed, and leaned over my sleeping wife. Iler face was 
buried in her hands. I withdrew them softly, and they fell 
listlessly on her bosom. She had been weeping; for the trace, s 
of the tears were still wet upon her cheek. Her face was culm 
aud placid; and even as I looked upon it, a ti’anquil smile 


THE PICKWI<3K PAPEKS. 


178 


lighted np her pale features. I laid my hand softly on her 
shoulder. She started — it was only a passing dream. I leant 
forward again. She screamed and woke. 

“ One motion of my hand, and she would never again have 
uttered cry or sound. But I was startled and drew back. Her 
eyes were fixed on mine. I know not how it was, but they 
cowed and frightened me ; and I quailed beneath them. She 
rose from the bed, still gazing fixedly and steadily on me. I 
trembled ; the razor was in my hand, but I could not move. 
She made towards the door. As she neared it, she turned, and 
withdrew her eyes from my face. The spell was broken. I 
bounded forward, and clutched her in my arm. Uttering 
shriek upon shriek, she sunk upon the ground. 

“ Now I could have killed her without a struggle; but the 
house was alarmed. I heard the tread of footsteps on the stairs. 
I replaced the razor in its usual drawer, unfastened the door, 
and called loudly for assistance. 

“ They came and raised her, and placed her on the bed. She 
lay bereft of animation, for hours; and when life, look, and 
speech returned, her senses had deserted her, and she raved 
wildly and furiously. 

“Doctors were called in — great men who rolled up to my door 
in easy carriages, with fine horses and gaudy servants. They 
were at her bedside for weeks. They had a great meeting, and 
consulted together in low and solemn voices in another room. 
One, the cleverest and most celebrated among them, took me 
aside, and bidding me prepare for the worst, told me — me, the 
madman I — that my wife was mad. He stood close beside me 
at an open window, his eyes looking in my face, and his hand 
laid upon my arm. With one effort I could have hurled him 
into the street beneath. It would have been rare sport to have 
done it; but my secret was at stake, and I let him go. A few 
days after, they told me I must place her under some restraint; 
I must provide a keeper for her. I! I went into the open 
fields where none could hear me, and laughed till the air re- 
sounded with my shouts 1 

“ She died next day. The white-headed old man followed 
her to the grave, and the proud brothers dropped a tear over the 
insensible corpse of her, whose sufferings they had regarded in 


174 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


her life-time with muscles of iron. All this was food for my 
secret mirth, and I laughed behind the white handkerchief which 
I held lip to my face, as we rode home, till the tears came into 
my eyes. 

“ But though I had carried my object and killed her, I wa.s 
restless and disturbed, and I felt that before long, my secret must 
be known. I could not hide the wild mirth and joy which 
boiled within me, and made me, when I was alone at home, 
jump up and beat my hands together, and dance round and 
round, and roar aloud. When I went out, and saw the busy 
crowds hurrying about the streets ; or to the theatre, and heard 
the sound of music, and beheld the people dancing, I felt such 
glee, that I could have rushed among them, and torn them to 
pieces limb from limb, and howled in transport. But I ground 
my teeth, and struck my feet upon the floor, and drove my sharp 
nails into my hands. I kept it down ; and no one knew I was 
a madman yet. 

I remember — though it’s one of the last things I can re- 
member : for now I mix realities with my dreams, and having 
so much to do, and being always hurried here, have no time to 
separate the two, from some strange confusion in which they get 
involved — I remember how I let it out at last. Ha I ha I I 
think I see their frightened looks now, and feel the ease with 
which I flung them from me, and dashed my clenched fist into 
their white faces, and then flew like the wind, and left them 
screaming and shouting far behind. The strength of a giant 
comes upon me when I think of it. There — see how this iron 
bar bends beneath my furious wrench. I could snap it like a 
twig, only there are long galleries here with many doors — I 
don’t think I could find my way along them : and even if 1 
could, I know there are iron gates below which they keep 
locked and barred. They know what a clever madman I have 
been, and they are proud to have me here, to show. 

“Let me see: — yes, I had been out. It was late at night 
when I reached home, and found the proudest of the three 
proud brothers, waiting to see me — urgent business he said : I 
recollect it well. I hated that man with all a madman’s hate. 
Many and many a time had my fingers longed to tear him. 
They told me he was there. I ran swiftly up stairs. He had 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


175 


ft word to say to me. I dismissed the Servants. It was late, 
and we were alone together — for the first time. 

I kept my eyes carefully from him at first, for I knew wliat 
he little thought — and I gloried in the knowledge — that the 
light of madness gleamed from them like 'fire. AVe sat in silence 
for a few minutes. He spoke at last. My recent dissipation, 
and strange remarks, made so soon after his sister’s death, were 
an insult to her memory. Coupling together many circum- 
stances which had at first escaped his observation he thought 1 
had not treated her well. He wished to know whether he was 
right in inferring that I meant to cast a reproach upon her 
memory, and a disrespect upon her family. It was due to the 
uniform he wore, to demand this explanation. 

“ This man had a commission in the army — a commission, 
purchased with my money, and his sister’s misery. This was 
the man who had been foremost in the plot to ensnare me, and 
grasp my wealth. This was the man who had been the main 
instrument in forcing his sister to wed me ; well knowing that 
her heart was given to that puling boy. Due ! Due to his 
uniform I The liyery of his degradation I I turned my eyes 
upon him — I could not help it — but I spoke not a word. 

“ I saw the sudden change that came upon him beneath my 
gaze. He was a bold man, but the color faded from his face, 
and he drew back his chair. I dragged mine nearer to him ; 
and as I laughed — I was very merry then — I saw him shudder. 
I felt the madness rising within me. He was afraid of me. 

“ ‘ You were very fond of your sister when she was alive,’ — I 
said — ‘Very.’ 

“ He looked uneasily round him, and I saw his hand grasp 
the back of his chair ; but he said nothing. 

“‘You villain,’ said I, ‘I found you out; I discovered your 
hellish plots against me ; I know her heart was fixed *on some 
one else, before you compelled her to marry me. I know it — I 
know it.’ 

“ He jumped suddenly from his chair, brandished it aloft, and 
bid me stand back — for I took care to be getting closer to him 
all the time I spoke. 

“ I screamed rather than talked, for I felt tumultuous passions 
eddying through my veins, and the old spirits whispering and 
tauntinsr me to tear his heart out. 


\ 

J76 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“‘Damn you/ sa'^i I, starting up, and rushing upon him ; *I 
killed her. I am a madman. Down with you. Blood, blood, 
I will have it.’ 

“ I turned aside with one blow the chair he hurled at me in 
his terror, and closed with him } and with a heavy crash, we 
rolled upon the floor together. 

“ It was a fine struggle that, for he was a tall strong man, 
fighting for his life; aud I, a powerful madman, thirsting to 
destroy him. I knew no strength could equal mine, and I was 
right. Bight, again, though a madman 1 His struggles grew 
fainter. I knelt upon his chest, and clasped his brawny throat 
firmly with both hands. His face grew purple ; his eyes were 
starting from his head, and with protruded tongue he seemed to 
mock me. I sqLueezed the tighter. 

“ The door was suddenly burst open with a loud noise, and a 
crowd of people rushed forward, crying aloud to each other, to 
secure the madman. 

“ My secret was out ; and my only struggle now, was foi 
liberty and freedom. I gained my feet before a hand was on 
me, threw myself among my assailants, and cleared my way 
with my strong arm as if I bore a hatchet in my hand, and 
hewed them down before me. I gained the door, dropped over 
the banisters, and in an instant was in the street. 

“ Straight and swift I ran, and no one dared to stop me. 1 
heard the noise of feet behind, and redoubled my speed. It 
grew fainter and fainter in the distance, and at length died away 
altogether; but on I bounded, through marsh and rivulet, over 
fence and wall, with a loud shout which was taken up by the 
strange beings that flocked around me on every side, aud swelled, 
the sound, till it pierced the air. I was borne upon the arms 
of demons who swept along upon the wind, and bore down 
bank and hedge before them, and spun me round and round 
with a rustle and a speed that made my head swim, until at Iasi 
they threw me from them with a violent shock, and I fell heavil} 
upon the earth. When I woke I found myself here — here in 
this gay cell where the sunlight seldom comes, and the moon 
steals in, in rays which only serve to show the dark shatlows 
about me, and that silent figure in its old corner. When I lie 
awake, I can sometimes hear strange shrieks aud cries from 
distant parts of this large place. What they fire. T know not r 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 171 

but Ibej neither come from that pale form nor does it regard 
them. For from the first shades of dusk till the earliest light 
of morning, it still stands motionless in the same place, listening 
to the music of my iron chain, and watching my gambols ou my 
straw bed.” 

At the end of the manuscript was written, in another hand, 
this note : 

[The unhappy man whose ravings are recorded above, was a 
melancholy instance of the baneful results of energies misdi- 
rected in early life, and excesses prolonged until their conse- 
quences could never be repaired. The thoughtless riot, dissipa- 
tion, and debauchery of his younger days, produced fever and 
delirium. The first effects of the latter, was the strange delusion, 
founded upon a well-known medical theory strongly contended 
for by some, and as strongly contested by others, that an here- 
ditary madness existed in the family. This produced a settled 
gloom, which in time developed a morbid insanity, and finally 
terminated in raving madness. There is every reason to believe 
that the events he detailed, though distorted in the description 
by his diseased imagination, really happened. • It is only matter 
of wonder to those who were acquainted with the vices of his 
early career, that his passions, when no longer controlled by 
reason, did not lead him to the commission of still more frightful 
deeds.] 

Mr. Pickwick’s candle was just expiring in the socket, as he 
concluded the perusal of the old clergyman’s manuscript; and 
when the light went suddenly out, without any previous dicker 
by way of warning, it communicated a very considerable start 
to his excited frame. Hastily throwing off such articles of 
clothing as he had put on when he arose from his uneasy bed, 
and casting a fearful glance around, he once more scutunbled 
hastily between the sheets, and soon fell fast asleep. 

The sun was shining brilliantly into his chamber when he 
awoke, and the morning was far advanced. The gloom which 
had oppressed him on the previous night, had disai^peared with 
the dark shadows which shrouded the landscape, and his 
thoughts and feelings were as light and gay as the morning 
itself. After a hearty breakfast, the four gentlemen sallied forth 
12 


178 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


to walk to Gravesend, followed by a man bearing the stone in 
its deal box. They reached that town about one o’clock, (their 
luggage they had directed to be forwarded to the city, from 
Kochester,) and being forti nate enough to secure places on the 
outside of a coach, arrived in Loudon iu sound health jiiid 
spirits, on that same afternoon. 

The next three or four days were occupied with the prepara- 
tions which were necessary for their journey to the Borough of 
Eatanswill. As any reference to that most important under- 
taking demands a separate chapter, we may devote the few lines 
which remain at the close of this, to narrate, with great brevity, 
the history of the antiquarian discovery. 

It appears from the Transactions of the Club, then, that Mr. 
Pickwick lectured on the discovery at a General Clul) Meeting, 
convened on the night succeeding their return, and entered into 
a variety of ingenious and erudite speculations on the meaning 
of the inscription. It also appears that a skillful artist ex- 
ecuted a faithful delineation of the curiosity, which was engraven 
on stone, and presented to the Royal Antiquarian Society, and 
other learned bodies — that heart-burnings and jealousies with- 
out number, were created by rival controversies which were 
penned upon the subject — and that Mr. Pickwick himself wrote 
a pamphlet containing ninety-six pages of very small print, and 
twenty-seven different readings of the inscription, 'riiat three 
old gentlemen cut off their eldest sons with a shiiling a))iece for 
presuming to doubt the antiquity of the fragment — and that 
one enthusiastic individual cut himself off prematurely, in de- 
spair at being unable to fathom its meaning. That Mr. Pick- 
wick was elected an honorary member of seventeen native and 
foreign societies, for making the discovery; that none of the 
seventeen could make any thing of it, but that all the seventeen 
agrccd-it was very extraordinary. 

Mr. Blotton, indeed — and the name will be doomed to the 
undying contempt of those who cultivate the mystcrioiis nial 
the sublime — Mr. Blotton, we say, witli the doubt and (oniling 
p>*cnliar to vulgar minds, presumed to state a view of ihe case, 
as degrading as r'-licnlous. Mr. Blotton, with a mean desire, to 
tarnish the lustre of the immortal name of Pickw.ck, actually 
undertook a journey to Cobham in person, and on his return, 
Barcasthally observed in an oration at the club, that he had 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


179 


seen the man from whom the stone was purchased ; that the man 
presumed the stone to be ancient, but solemnly denied the an- 
tiquity of the inscription — inasmuch as he represented it to ha^ e 
been rudely carved by himself in an idle mood, and to display 
letters intended to bear neither more nor less than the simple 
construction of “ Bill Stumps, his mark and that Mr. Stumps, 
beino^ little in the habit of original composition, and more ac- 
customed to be guided by the sound of words than by the 
strict rules of orthography, had omitted the concluding “ L” 
of his Christian name. 

The Pickwick Club, as might have been expected from so 
enlightened an institution, received this statement with the con- 
tempt it deserved, expelled the presumptuous and ill-condi- 
tioned Blotton from the society, and voted Mr. Pickwick a pair 
of gold spectacles, in token of their confidence and approba- 
tion ; in return for which, Mr. Pickwick caused a portrait of 
himself to be painted, and hung up in the club-room — which 
portrait, by-the-by, he did not wish to have destroyed when he 
grew a few years older. 

Mr. Blotton was ejected, but not conquered. He also wrote 
a pamphlet, addressed to the seventeen learned societies, con- 
taining a repetition of the statement he had already made, and 
rather more than half intimating his opinion that the seven- 
teen learned societies aforesaid, were so many “humbugs.” 
Hereupon the virtuous indignation of the seventeen learned 
societies being roused, several fresh pamphlets appeared ; the 
foreign learned societies corresponded with the native learned 
societies, the native learned societies translated the pamphlets 
of the foreign learned societies into English, the foreign learned 
societies translated the pamphlets of the native learned societies 
into all sorts of languages; and thus commenced that cele- 
Ijrated scientific discussion, so well known to all men as the 
Pickwick controversy. 

But this base attempt to injure Mr. Pickwick, recoiled upon 
the head of its calumnious author. The seventeen learned 
societies unanimously voted the presumptuous Blotton an igno- 
rant meddler ; and forthwith set to work upon more treatises 
than ever. And to this day the stone remains an illegible 
monument of Mr. Pickwick’s greatness, and a lasting trophy of 
the litt’eness of his enemies. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


DESCRIPTIVE OF A VERY IMPORTANT PROCEEDING ON THE PART 

OF MR. PICKWICK I NO LESS AN EPOCH IN HIS LIFE, THAN 

IN THIS HISTORY. 

Mr. Pickavtck’s apartments in Goswell street, although on a 
limited scale, were not only of a very neat and comfortable de- 
scription, but peculiarly adapted for the residence of a man of 
his genius and observation. Ilis sitting-room was the first floor 
front, his bedroom the second floor front ; and thus, whether 
he were sitting at his desk in the parlor, or standing before the 
dressing-glass in his dormitory, he had an equal opportunity of 
contemplating human nature in all the numerous phases it ex- 
hibits, in that not more populous than popular thoroughfare, 
llis landlady, Mrs. Bardell — the relict and sole executrix of a 
deceased custom-house officer — was a comely woman of bustling 
manners and agreeable appearance, with a natural genius for 
cooking, improved by study and long practice into an exquisite 
talent. There were no children, no servants, no fowls. The 
only other inmates of the house were a large man and a small 
boy ; the first a lodger, the second a production of Mrs. Bar- 
dell’s. The large man was always home precisely at ten 
o’clock at night, at which hour lie regularly condensed himself 
into the limits of a dwarfish French bedstead in the back par- 
lor ; and the infantine sports and gymnastic exercises of Master 
Bardell w ere exclusively confined to the neighboring pavements 
and gutters. pleanliness and quiet reigned throughout the 
house ; and in it Mr. Pickwick’s will was law. 

To any one acquainted with these points of the domestic 
economy of the establishment, and conversant with the admirable 
regulation of Mr. Pickwick’s mind, his appearance and behavior 
on the morning previous to that which had been fixed upon for 
the journey to Eatanswill, would have been most mysterious and 
unaccountable. He paced the room to and fro with hurrieck 


tffE! PICKWICK PAPERS. 


181 


steps, popped his head out of the windoAV at intervals of about 
three minutes eacli, constantly referred to his watch, and exhibited 
many other manifestations of impatience, very unusual with him. 
It was evident that something of great importance was in con- 
templation, but what that something was, not even Mrs. Bardell 
herself had been enabled to discover. 

“ Mrs. Bardell,” said Mr. Pickwick, at last, as that amiable 
female approached the termination of a prolonged dusting of tho 
apartment. 

Sir,” sfiid Mrs. Bardell. 

“ Your little boy is a very long time gone.” 

Why, it’s a good long way to the Borough, Sir,” remon- 
strated Mrs. Bardell. 

“ Ah,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ very true; so it is.” 

Mr. Pickwick relapsed into silence, and Mrs. Bardell resumed 
her dusting. 

‘‘ Mrs. Bardell,” said Mr. Pickwick, at the expiration of a 
few minutes. 

“ Sir,” said Mrs. Bardell again. 

“ Do you think it’s a much greater expense to keep two people, 
than to keep one ?” 

“La, Mr. Pickwick,” said Mrs. Bardell, coloring up to the 
very border of her cap, as she fancied she observed a species of 
matrimonial twinkle in the eyes of her lodger ; “ La, Mr. Pick- 
wick, what a question I” 

“ Well, but do you ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ That depends” — said Mrs. Bardell, approaching the duster 
very near to Mr. Pickwick’s elbow, which was planted on the 
table ; “that depends a good deal upon the person, you know, 
Mr. Pickwick; and whether it’s a saving and carefol person. 
Sir.” 

“ That’s very true,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ but the person I have 
in my eye (liere he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardell) I think 
]>nssesses these qualities : and has, moreover, a considerable 
knowledge of the world, and a great deal of sharpness, Mrs. 
Bardell ; which may be of material use to me.” 

“ La, Mr. Pickwick,” said Mrs. Bardell ; the crimson rising 
to her cap-bordcr again. 

I ^id Mr. Pickwi.’fk, growing energetic, as was hU 


182 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


wont in speaking of a subject which interested him, ** I do, in- 
deed ; and to tell you the truth, Mrs. Bardell, I have made up 
my miiid.’^ 

“ Dear me, Sir,” exclaimed Mrs. Bardell. 

“.Youdl think it very strange now,” said the amiable Mr, 
Pickwick, with a good-humored glance at his companion, “that 
I never consulted you about this matter, and never even men- 
tioned it, till I sent your little boy out this morning — eh 

Mrs. Bardell could only reply by a look. She had long wor- 
shipped Mr. Pickwick at a distance, but here she was, all a1 
once, raised to a pinnacle to which her wildest and most extra- 
vagant hopes had never dared to aspire. Mr. Pickwick was 
going to propose — a deliberate plan, too — sent her little boy to 
the Borough, to get him out of the way — how thoughtful — how 
considerate 1 

“ Well,” said Mr. Pickwick, “w'hat do you think ?” 

“Oh, Mr. Pickwick,” said Mrs. Bardell, trembling wdth 
agitation,, “you’re very kind. Sir.” 

“ Ii’ll save you a good deal of trouble, won’t it ?” said Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“ Oh, I never thought anything of the trouble. Sir,” replied 
Mrs. Bardell ; “ and of course, I should take more trouble to 
please, you then than ever ; but it is so kind of you, ISlr. Pick- 
wick, to have so much consideration for my loneliness. ” 

“ Ah, to be sure,” said Mr. Pickwick ; “ I never thought of 
that. When I am in towm, you’ll always have somebody to sit 
with you. To be sure, so you will.” 

“ I’m sure I ought to be a very happy woman,” said Mrs. 
Bardell. 

“ And your little boy — ” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Bless his heart,” interposed Mrs. Bardell, with a maternal 

Bob. 

“ He, too, will have a companion,” resumed Mr. Pickwick, 

“ a lively one, who’ll teach him. I’ll be bound, more tricks in a 
week, than he w^ould ever learn in a year.” And Mr. Pickwick 
smiled placidly. 

“ Oh you dear ” said Mrs. Bardell. 

Mr. Pickwick started. 

“ Oh you kind, good, playful dear ” said Mrs. Bardell ; and 



MRS. BARDELL FAINTS IN MR. PICKWICK’s ARMS. — Page 183 




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TUE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


188 


withont more ado, she rose from her chair, and flung her arms 
louud xMr Pickwick’s neck, with a cataract of tears, and a 
chorus of sobs. 

‘‘ iiicss my soul,” cried the astonished Mr. Pickwick ; — “Mrs. 
Bardell, my good woman — dear me, what a situation — pray 
consider. Mrs. Bardell, don’t — if any body should come ” 

“Oh, let them come,” exclaimed Mrs. Bardell, frantically; 
“I’ll never leave you — dear, kind, good soul;” and, with these 
words, Mrs. Bardell clung the tighter. 

“Mercy upon me,” said Mr. Pickwick, struggling violently, 
“ I hear somebody coming up the stairs. Don’t, don’t, there’s 
a good creature, don’t.” But entreaty and remonstrance 
were alike unavailing: for Mrs. Bardell had fainted in IMck- 
wick’s arms ; and before he could gain time to deposit her on 
a chair. Master Bardell entered the room, ushering in Mr. Tup- 
man, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. 

Mr. T”ickwick was struck motionless and speechless. lie 
stood with his lovely burden in his arms, gazing vacantly on the 
countenances of his friends, without the slightest attempt at re- 
cognition or explanation. They, in their turn, stared at him; 
and Master Bardell, in his turn, stared at every body. 

The astonishment of the Pickwickians was so absorbing, and 
the perplexity of Mr. Pickwick was so extreme, that they might 
have remained in exactly the same relative situation until the 
suspended animation of the lady was restored, had it not been 
for a most beautiful and touching expression of filial affec- 
tion on the part of her youthful son. Clad in a tight suit of 
corderoy, spangled with brass buttons of a very considerable 
size, he at first stood at the door astounded and uncertain ; but 
by degrees, the impression that his mother must have suffered 
some personal damage, pervaded his partially developed mind, 
and considering Mr, Pickwick as the aggressor, he set up an 
appalling and semi -earthly kind of howling, and butting for- 
ward with his head, commenced assailing that immortal gentle- 
man about the back and legs, with such blows and pinches as 
the strength of his arm, and the violence of his excitement 
allowed. 

“ Take this little villain away,” said the agonized Mr. Pick- 
wick, “ he’s mad.” 


184 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ What is the matter said the three tongue-tied Pick- 
wickians. 

“ 1 don’t kncj^'v,” replied Mr. Pickwick, pettishly. Take 
away the boy” — ^(her^ Mr. Winkle carried the interesting boy, 
screaming and struggling, to the further end of the apartment.) 
*‘2s’ow help me lead this woman down stairs.” 

“ Oh, 1 am better now,” said Mrs. Bardell, faintly. 

“ Let me lead you down stairs,” said the ever gallant Mr 
Tupman. 

Thank you. Sir — thank you ;” exclaimed Mrs. Bardell, hys- 
terically. And down stairs she was led accordingly, accom- 
panied by her affectionate son. 

“ 1 cannot conceive” — said Mr. Pickwick waen his friend re- 
turned — “ I cannot conceive what has been the matter with that 
woman. I had merely announced to her my intention of keep- 
ing a man-servant, when she fell into the extraordinary parox- 
ysm in which you found her. Very extraordinary thing.” 

“ Very,” said his three friends. 

“Placed me in such an extremely awkward situation,” con- 
tinued Mr. Pickwick. 

“Very,” was the reply of his followers, as they coughed 
slightly, and looked dubiously at each other. 

This behavior was not lost upon Mr. Pickwick. He remarked 
their incredulity. They evidently suspected him. 

“ There is a man in the passage now,” said Mr. Tupman. 

“ It’s the man I spoke to you about,” said Mr. Pickwick. 
“ I sent for him to the Borough this morning. Have the good- 
ness to call him up, Snodgrass.” 

Mr. Snodgrass did as he was desired; and Mr. Samuel 
AVeller forthwith presented himself. 

“ Oh — you remember me, I suppose said Mr. Pickwick. 

“I should think so,” replied Sam, with a patronising v. .k. 
*' Queer start that ’ere, but he was one too many for you, waV; 
he Up to snuff and a pinch or two over — eh ?” 

“ Never mind that matter, now*,” said Mr. Pickwick, hastily, 
“ I want to speak to you about something else. Sit down.” 

“ Thank’ee, Sir,” said Sara. And down he sat without 
further bidding, having previously deposited his old white hat 
oa the lauding^ outside the door. “Ta’n’t a wery good ^nn 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


186 


to look at,” said Sam, “but it’s an astonishin’ ’un to wear; 
and afoie the brim went, it was a wery handsome tile. IIows’- 
ever it’s lighter without it, that’s one thing, and every hole lets 
in some air, that’s another — wentilation gossamer I calls it.” 
On the delivery of this sentiment, Mr. Weller smiled agreeably 
upon the assembled Pickwickians. 

“ Now with regard to the matter on which I, with the con- 
currence of these gentlemen, sent for you,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ That’s the pint, Sir,” interposed Sam ; “ out with it, as the 
father said to the child, ven he swallowed a farden.” 

“ We want to know, in the first place,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
“whether you have any reason to be discontented with your pre- 
sent situation.” 

“ Afore I answers that ’ere question, gen’l’m’n,” replied Mr. 
Weller, “/ should like to know, in the first place, whether 
you’re a goin’ to purwide me with a better.” 

A sunbeam of placid benevolence played on Mr. Pickwick’s 
features as he said, “ I have made up my mind to engage you 
myself.” 

“ Have you, though ?” said Sam. 

Mr. Pickwick nodded in the affirmative. 

“Wages?” inquired Sam. 

“ Twelve pounds a year,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Clothes ?” ■ 

“ Two suits.” 

“ Work ?” 

“ To attend upon me ; and travel about with me and these 
gentlemen, here.” 

“Take the bill down,” said Sam, emphatically. “I’m let to 
a single gentleman, and the terms is agreed upon.” 

“You accept the situation?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Cert’inly,” replied Sam. — “ If the clothes fits me half as well 
as the place, they’ll do.” 

“ You can get a character of course ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Ask the landlady o’ the White Hart about that, Sir,” re- 
plied Sam. 

“ Can you come this evening ?” 

“ Pll get into the clothes this minute, if they’re her©/’ said 
Sam. with great alacrity 


186 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ Call at eight this evening,” said Mr. Pickwick ; “ and if 
the inquiries are satisfactory, they shall be provided.” 

With the single exception of one amiable indiscretion, in 
which an assistant house-maid had equally participated, the 
history of Mr. Weller’s conduct was so very blameless, that 
Mr. Pickwick felt fully justified in closing the engagement that 
very evening. With the promptness and energy which cha- 
racterised not only the public proceedings, but all the private 
actions of this extraordinary man, he at once led his new at- 
tendant to one of those convenient emporiums where gentlemen’s 
new and second-hand clothes are provided, and the troublesome 
and inconvenient formality of measurement dispensed with ; and 
before night had closed in, Mr. Weller was furnished with a 
grey coat with the ‘ P. C.’ button, a black hat with a cockade 
to it, a pink-striped waistcoat, light breeches and gaiters, and a 
variety of otlier necessaries, too numerous to recapitulate. 

“ Well,” said that suddenly-transformed individual, as ho 
took his scat on the outside of the Eatanswill coach next morn- 
ing ; “ I wonder vether I’m meant to be a footman, or a groom, 
or a game-keeper, or a seedsman. I looks like a sort of compo 
of every one on ’em. Never mind ; there’s change of air, plenty 
to see, and little to do ; and all this suits my complaint uncom- 
iiion, so long life to the PIckvicks, says I.” 


CHAPTER XIT. 


SOME ACCOUNT OP EATANSWILL ; OP THE STATE OF PARTIES 

THEREIN ; AND OF THE ELECTION OF A MEMBER TO SERVE 

IN THE PARLIAMENT FOR THAT ANCIENT, LOYAL, AND PA- 
TRIOTIC BOROUGH. 

We will frankly acknowledge, that up to the period of our 
being first immersed in the voluminous papers of the Pickwick 
club, we had never heard of Eatanswill ; we wul with equal 
candor admit, that we have in vain searched for proof of the 
actual existence of such a place at the present day. Knowing 
the deep reliance to be placed on every note and statement of 
Mr. Pickwick’s, and not presuming to set up our recollection 
against tlie recorded declarations of that great man, we have 
consulted every authority, bearing upon the subject, to which 
we could possibly refer. We have traced every name in 
schedules A and 13, without meeting with that of Eatanswill ; 
we have minutely examined every corner of the Pocket County 
Maps issued for the benefit of society by our distinguished 
publishers, and the same result has attended our investigation. 
\Vc are therefore led to believe, that Mr. Pickwick, with that 
anxious desire to abstain from giving offence to any, and with 
those delicate feelings for which all who knew him well know 
he was so eminently remarkable, purposely substituted a ficti- 
tious designation, for the real name of the place in which his 
observations were made. We are confirmed in this belief by a 
little circumstance, apparently slight and trivial in itself, but 
wlicn considered in this point of view, not undeserving of notice. 
In Mr. Pickwick’s note-book, we can just trace an entry of the 
fact, that the places of himself and followers were booked by the 
Norwich coach; but this entry was afterwards lined through, 
as if for the purpose of concealing even the direction in which 
the borough is situated. We will not, therefor^, hazard a guess 
upon the subject, but will at once proceed with this history ; 

(187) 


188 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


content with the materials which its characters have provided 
for us. 

It appears, then, that the Eatanswill people, like the people of 
many other small towns, considered themselves of the utmost 
and most mighty importance, and that every man in Eatanswill, 
conscious of the weight that attached to his example, felt him - 
self bound to unite, heart and soul, with one of the two great 
parties that divided the town — the Blues and the Buffs. Now 
the Blues lost no opportunity of opposing the Buffs, and the 
Buffs lost no opportunity of opposing tho Blues ; and the con- 
sequence was, that whenever the Buffs and Blues met together 
at public meeting, Town-Hall, fair, or market, disputes and 
high woids arose between them. With these dissensions it is 
almost superfluous to say that every thing in Eatanswill was 
made a party-question. If the Buffs proposed to new sky-light 
the market-place, the Blues got up public meetings, and de- 
nounced the proceeding ; if the Blues proposed the erection of 
an additional pump in the High Street, the Buffs rose as one man 
and stood aghast at the enormity. There were Blue shops and 
Buff shops. Blue inns and Buff inns there was a Blue aisle 
and a Buff aisle, in the very church itself. 

Of course it was essentially and indispensably necessary that 
each of these powerful parties should have its chosen organ and 
representative : and, accordingly, there were two newspapers in. 
the town — the Eatanswill Gazette and the Eatanswill Indepen- 
dent; the former advocating Blue principles, and the latter con- 
ducted on grounds decidedly Buff. Fine newspapers they were I 
Such leading articles, and such spirited attacks I — “ Our worth- 
less contemporary, the Gazette” — “ That disgraceful and das- 
tardly journal, the Independent” — “ That false and scurrilous 
print, the Independent” — “ That vile and slanderous caluminator, 
the Gazette;” — these, and other spirit-stimng denunciations, 
were strewn i)lentifully over the columns of each, in every number, 
and excited feelings of the most intense delight and indignation 
in the bosoms of the townspeople. 

Mr. Pickwick, with his usual foresight and sagacity, had 
chosen a peculiarly desirable moment for his visit to the borough. 
Never was such* a contest known. The Honorable Samuel 
Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, was the Bliie candidate ; aud Horatio 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


189 


Fizkin, Esq., of Fizkin Lodge, near Eatanswill, had been pre- 
railed upon by his friends to stand forward on the Buff interest. 
The Gazette warned the electors of Eatanswill that the eyes not 
only of England, but of the whole civilized world, were upon 
tliem ; and the Independent imperatively demanded to know, 
whether the constituency of Eatanswill were the grand fellows they 
had always taken them for, or base and servile tools, undeserving 
alike of the name of Englishmen and the blessings of freedom. 
Never had such a commotion agitated the town before. 

It was late in the evening, when Mr. Pickwick and his com- 
panions, assisted by Sam, dismounted from the roof of the 
Eatanswill coach. Large blue silk flags were flying from the 
windows of the Town Arips Inn, and bills were posted in every 
sash, intimating in gigantic letters, that the Honorable Samuel 
Slumkey’s Committee sat there daily. A crowd of idlers were 
assembled in the road, looking at a hoarse man in the balcony^ 
who was apparently talking himself very red in the face iu Mr. 
Slumkey’s behalf ; but the force and point of whose arguments 
were somewhat impaired by the pei*petual beating of four large 
drums, which Mr. Eizkin’s committee had stationed at the 
street corner. There was a busy little man beside him, though^ 
who took off his hat at intervals, and motioned to the people to 
cheer, which they regularly did, most enthusiastically ; and as 
the red-faced gentlemen went on talking till he was redder in the 
face than ever, it seemed to answer his purpose quite as well as 
if any body had heard him. 

The Pickwickians had so sooner dismounted, than they were 
surrounded by a branch mob of the honest and independent, who 
forthwith set up three deafening cheers, which being responded to 
by the main body (for it’s not at all necessary for a crowd to 
know what they are cheering about) swelled into a tremendous 
roar of triumph, which stopped even the red-faced man iu the 
balcony. 

“ Ilun-ah !” shouted the mob in conclusion. 

‘‘ One cheer more,” screamed the little fugleman in the bal- 
cony ; and out shouted the mob again, as if lungs were cast iron, 
with steel works. 

Slumkey for ever !” roared the honest and independent. 

“ Slumkey for ever I” echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat. 


190 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** No Fizkin,” roared the crowd. 

** Certainly not,” shouted Mr. Pickwick. 

“Hurrah I” And then there was another roaring, like tV^t of 
a whole menagerie when the elephant has rung the bell for the 
cold meat. 

“ Who is Slumkey ?” whispered Mr. Tupman. 

“I don’t know,” replied Mr. Pickwick in the same tone, 
“ Hush. Don’t ask any questions. It’s always best on these 
occasions to do what the mob do.” 

“But suppose there are two mobs ?” suggested Mr. Snod- 
grass. 

“ Shout with the largest,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

Volumes could not have said more. 

They entered the house, the crowd opening right and left to 
let them pass, and cheering vociferously. The first object of con- 
sideration was to secure quarters for the night. 

“ Can we have beds here ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, summon- 
ing the waiter. 

“Don’t know, Sir,” replied the man, “afraid we’re full. Sir 
— I’ll inquire. Sir.” Away he went for that purpose, and pre- 
sently returned, to ask whether the gentlemen were “Blue.” 

As neither Mr. Pickwick nor his companions took any vital 
interest in the cause of either candidate, the question was rather 
a difficult one to answer. In this dilemma Mr. Pickwick be- 
thought himself of his new friend, Mr. Perker. 

“ Do you know a gentleman of the name of Perker ?” in- 
quired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Certainly, Sir ; honorable Mr. Samuel Slunkey’s agent.” 

“ He is Blue, I think ?” 

“ Oh yes. Sir.” 

“ Then ive are Blue,” said ^Ir. Pickwick ; but observing that 
the man looked rather doubtful at this accommodating an- 
nouncement, he gave him his card, and desired him to present 
it to Mr. Perker forthwith, if he should hapjien to be in the 
hor.se. The waiter retired ; and rcaiipearing almost imme- 
diately with a request that Mr. Pickwick would follow him, led 
the way to a large room on the first floor, where, seated at a 
large table covered with books and papers, was Mr. Perker. 

“ Ah — ah, my dear Sir,” said the little man, advancing to 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


191 


meet him ; very happy to see yon, my dear Sir, very. Pray sit 
down. So you have carried your intention into effect. You 
ha^'e comedown here to see an election — eh?" 

Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative. 

“ Spirited contest, my dear Sir,” said the little man. 

“ I am delighted to hear it,” said Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his 
hands, “ I like to see sturdy patriotism, on whatever side it is 
called forth ; — and so it’s a spirited contest ?” 

“ Oh yes,” said the little man, “ very much so indeed. We 
have opened all the public houses in the place, and left our ad- 
versary nothing but the beer-shops — masterly stroke of policy 
that, my dear Sir, eh ?” — and the little man smiled compla- 
cently, and took a large pinch of snulf. 

“ And what are the probabilities as to the result of the con- 
test ?” incpiired Mr. Pickwick. 

“Way doubtful, my dear Sir; rather doubtful, as yet,” 
replied the little man. “ Fizkin’s people have got three-and- 
thirty voters in the lock-up coach-house at the White Hart.” 

“ In the coach-house!” said Mr. Pickwick, considerably as- 
tonislied by this second stroke of policy. 

“ Tliey keep ’em locked up there, till they want ’em,” resumed 
the little man. “ The effect of that is, you see, to lU’cvent our 
getting at them ; and even if we could, it would be of no use, 
fur they keo]) them very drunk on purpose. Smart fellow Fiz- 
kiii’s agent — very smart fellow indeed.” 

Mr. Pickwick stared, but said nothing. 

“ We are pretty confident, though,” said ^Fr. Perker, sinking 
his voice almost to a whisper. “We had a little tea-party here, 
last niglii — five-and-forty women, my dear Sir— and gave every 
one of ’em a green parasol when she went away.” 

“ A parasol !” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Fa{.*t, iny dear Sir, fact. Five-and-forty green parasols, at 
seven and si.\{)ence apieCe. All women like finery, — e.xtraordi- 
nary ihe effect of those })arasols. Secured all their husbands, 
r.i'd half their brothers— beat stockings, and flannel, and all 
that sort of thing hollow. ^ly idea, my dear Sir, entirely. 
IJail, rain, or sunshine, you can’t walk half a dozen yards up 
the street, without encountering half a dozen green parasols.’’ 


192 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Here the little man indulged in a conTulsion of mirth, which 
was only checked by tlie entrance of a third party. 

This was a tall, thin man, with a sandy colored head, in- 
clined to baldness, and a face in which solemn importance waa 
blended with a look of unfathomable profundity. He waa 
dressed in a long brown surtout, with a black cloth wmistcoat, 
and drab trousers. A double eyeglass dangled at his waist- 
coat : and on his head he wore a very low-crowiied hat with a 
broad brim. The new coiner was introduced to Mr. Pickwick 
as Mr. Pott, the editor of the Eatanswill Gazette. After a few 
preliminary remarks, Mr. Pott turned round to Mr. Pickwick, 
and said with solemnity — 

“ This contest excites great interest in the metropolis, Sir ?” 

“ I believe it does,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ To which I have reason to know,” said Pott, looking to- 
wards Mr. Perker for corroboration, — “ to which I have reason 
to know my article of last Saturday in some degree contributed.’^ 

“ Not the least doubt of that,” said the little man. 

“ The press is a mighty engine. Sir,” said Pott. 

Mr. Pickwick yielded his fullest assent to the proposition. 

“ But I trust. Sir,” said Pott, “ that I have never abused the 
enormous power I wield. I trust. Sir, that I have never pointed 
the noble instrument which is placed in my hands, against the 
sacred bosom of private life, or the tender breast of individual 
reputation ; — I trust, Sir, that I have devoted my energies to — 
to endeavors — humble they may be, humble I know they are — 
to instill those principles of — which are — ” 

Here the editor of the Eatanswill Gazette, appearing to ram- 
ble, Mr. Pickwick came to his relief, and said — 

“ Certainly.” 

“And what. Sir” — said Pott — “what, Sir, let me ask you aa 
an impartial man, is the state of the public mind in London, 
with reference to my contest with the Independent ?” 

“ Greatly excited, no doubt,” interposed Mr. Perker, with a 
look of slyness which was very likely accidental. 

“ That contest,” said Pott, “ shall be prolonged so long as I 
havq health and strength, and that portion of talent with which 
I am gifted. From that contest, Sir, although it may unsettle 
men’s minds and excite their feelings, and render them incapable 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


193 


for the discharge of the every-day duties of ordinary life ; from 
that contest, Sir, I will never shrink, till I have set my heel 
upon the Eatanswill Independent. I wish the people of London, 
and the people of this country to know. Sir, that they may rely 
upon me ; that I will not desert them, that I am resolved to 
Btaud by them. Sir, to the last.” 

Your conduct is most noble. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick; and 
he grasped the hand of the magnanimous Pott. 

You are. Sir, I perceive, a man of sense and talent,” said 
Mr. Pott, almost breathless with the vehemence of his patriotic 
declaration. “ I am most happy. Sir, to make the acquaintance 
of such a man.” 

“And I,” said Mr. Pickwick, “feel deeply honored by this 
expression of your opinion. Allow me, Sir, to introduce you 
to my fellow travelers, the other corresponding members of the 
club I am proud to have founded.” 

“ I shall be delighted,” said Mr. Pott. 

Mr. Pickwick withdrew, and returning with his three friends, 
presented them in due form to the editor of the Eatanswill 
Gazette. 

“Now, my dear Pott,” said little Mr. Perker, “the question 
is, what are we to do with our friends here ?” 

“We can stop in this house, I suppose,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Not a spare bed in the house, my dear Sir — not a single 
bed.” 

“ Extremely awkward,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Very,” said his fellow-voyagers. 

“ I have an idea upon this subject,” said Mr. Pott, “ which I 
think may be very successfully adopted. They have two beds 
at the Peacock, and I can boldly say, on behalf of Mrs. Pott, 
that she will be delighted to accommodate Mr. Pickwick and 
any one of his friends, if the other two gentlemen and their 
servant do not object to shifting, as they best can, at the 
Peacock.” 

After repeated pressings on the part of Mr. Pott, and repeateq 
protestations on that of Mr. Pickwick, that he could not thirik. 
of incommoding or troubling his amiable wife, it was decided 
that this was the only feasible arrangement that could be made. 
So it was made ; and after dining together at the Town Arms 
13 


194 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


the friends separated, Mr. Tnpman and Mr. Snodgrass repairing 
to the Peacock, and Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle proceeding 
to the mansion of Mr. Pott ; it having been previously arranged 
that they should all reassemble at the Town Arms in the 
morning, and accompany the honorable Samuel Slumkey’s pro- 
cession to the place of nomination. 

Mr. Pott’s domestic circle was limited to himself and his 
wife. All men whom mighty genius has raised to a proud emi- 
nence in the world, have usually some little weakness which 
appears the more conspicuous from the contrast it presents to 
their general character. If Mr. Pott had a weakness, it was, 
perhai)s, that he was rather too submissive to the somewhat 
contemptuous control and sway of his wife. We do not feel 
justified in laying any particular stress upon the fact, because on 
the present occasion all Mrs. Pott’s most w'inning ways were 
brought into requisition to receive the two gentlemen. 

“ My dear,” said Mr. Pott, “ Mr. Pickwick — Mr. Pickwick 
of London.” 

Mrs. Pott received Mr. Pickwick’s paternal grasp of the 
hand with enchanting sweetness : and Mr. Winkle, who had not 
been announced at all, slided and bowed, unnoticed, in an ob- 
scure corner. 

“ P., my dear — ” said Mrs. Pott. 

“ My life,” said Mr. Pott. 

“Pray introduce the other gentleman.” 

“ I beg a thousand pardons,” said Mr. Pott. “ Permit me — 
Mrs. Pott, Mr. — ” 

“Winkle,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Winkle,” echoed Mr. Pott ; and the ceremony of introduc- 
tion was complete. 

“We owe you many apologies. Ma’am,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
“ for disturbing your domestic arrangements at so short a 
• notice.” 

“ I beg you won’t mention it. Sir,” replied the feminine Pott, 
with vivacity. “ It is a high treat to me, I assure you, to see 
any new faces; living as 1 do from day to day, and week to 
week, in this dull place and seeing nobody.’’ 

“Nobody, my dear 1” exclaimed Mr. Pott archlj". 

“Nobody but you,” retorted Mrs. Pott, with asperity. 

IQA 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


196 


“You see. Mr. Pickwick.” said the host in explanation of his 
wife’s lament, “ that we are in some measure cut off from many 
enjoyments and pleasures of which we might otherwise partake, 
My public station, as editor of the Eatanswill Gazette, the 
position which that paper holds in the country, my constant 
immersion in the vortex of politics — ” 

“ P., my dear,” interposed Mrs. Pott. 

“ My life — ” said the editor. 

“ I wish, my dear, you would endeavor to find some topic 
of conversation in which these gentlemen might take some 
rational interest.” 

But, my love,” said Mr. Pott, with great humility, “ Mr. 
Pickwick does take an interest in it.” 

“It’s well for him if he can,” said Mrs. Pott, emphatically; 
“ I am wearied out of my life with your politics, and quarrels 
with the Independent, and nonsense. I am quite astonished, 
P., at your making such an exhibition of your absurdity.” 

“ But, my dear — ” said Mr. Pott. 

“ Oh, nonsense, don’t talk to me,” said Mrs. Pott. “ Do 
you play ecarte, Sir ?” 

“ I shall be very happy to learn, under your tuition, replied 
Mr. Winkle. 

“ Well, then, draw that little table into this window, and let 
me get out of hearing of those prosy politics.” 

“ Jane,” said Mr. Pott, to the servant who brought in can- 
dles, “ go down into the office, and bring me up the file of the 
Gazette for eighteen hundred and twenty-eight. I’ll just read 
you — ” added the editor, turning to Mr. Pickwick, “ I’ll just 
read you a few of the leaders I wrote at that time, upon the 
Bufif job of appointing a new tollman to the turnpike here; 
I raiher think they’ll amuse you.” 

“ I should like to hear them very much, indeed,” said Mr. 
Pickwick. 

Up came the file, and down sat the editor, with Mr. Pick 
wick at his side. 

We have in vain pored over the leaves of Mr. Pickwick’s 
note-book, in the hope of meeting with a general summary of 
those beautiful compositions. We have every reason to believe 
that he was perfectly enraptured with the vigor and freshness 


196 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


of the style : indeed Mr. Winkle has recorded the fact that hifi 
eyes were closed, as if with excess of pleasure, during the whole 
time of their perusal. 

The announcement of supper put a stop both to the game at 
icarte^ and the recapitulation of the beauties of the Eatanswill 
Gazette. Mrs, Pott was in the highest spirits and the most 
agreeable humor. Mr. Winkle had already made considerable 
progress in her good opinion, and she did not hesitate to inform 
him, confidentially, that Mr. Pickwick w’as “ a delightful old 
dear.” These terms convey a familiarity of expression, in 
which few of those who w'ere intimately acquainted with that^ 
colosSal-minded man, would have presumed to indulge. We 
have preserved them, nevertheless, as affording at once a touch- 
ing and convincing proof of the estimation in which he was held 
by every class of society, and the ease with which he made his 
way to their hearts and feelings. 

It was a late hour of the night — long after Mr. Tupman and 
Mr. Snodgrass had fallen asleep in the inmost recesses of the 
Peacock — when the two friends retired to rest. Slumber soon 
fell upon the senses of Mr. Winkle, but his feelings had been 
excited, and his admiration roused ; and for many hours after 
sleep had rendered him insensible to earthly objects, the face 
and figure of the agreeable Mrs. Pott presented themselves 
again and again to his wuuidering imagination. 

The noise and bustle wdiich ushered in the morning, w'ere 
sufficient to dispel from the mind of the most romantic visionary 
in existence, any associations but those which were immediately 
connected with the rapidly approaching election. The beating 
of drums, the blowing of horns and trumpets, the shouting of 
men, and tramping of horses, echoed and re-echoed through the 
streets from the earliest dawm of day ; and an occasional fight 
between the light skirmishers of either party, at once enlivened 
the preparations, and agreeably diversified their character. 

“Well, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, as his valet appeared at 
his bedroom door, just as he wms concluding his toilet ; “ ail 
alive to-day, I suppose ?” 

“ Reg’lar game. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller; “our people's a 
coMecting down at the Town Arms, and they’re a hollering 
themselves hoarse already.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


197 


** A h,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ do they seem devcted to their 
party, Sam 

“ Never see such dewotion in my life, Sir.” 

“ Energetic, eh said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Uncommon,” replied Sam ; “ I never see men eat and 
drink so much afore. I wonder they a’n’t afeer’d o’ bustin.” 

‘‘ That’s the mistaken kindness of the gentry here,” said 
Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Wery likely,” replied Sam, briefly. 

“ Fine, fresh, hearty fellows they seem,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
glancing from the window. 

“ Wery fresh,” replied Sam ; “ me, and the two waiters at 
the Peacock, has been a pumpin’ over the independent woters 
as supped there last night.” 

“ Pumping over independent voters I” exclaimed Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

“Yes,” said his attendant, “every man slept vere he fell 
down ; we dragged ’em out, one by one, this mornin’, and put 
’em under the pump, and they’re in reg’lar fine order, now. 
Shillin’ a head the committee paid for that ’ere job.” 

“Can such things be ?” exclaimed the astonished Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

“Lord bless your heart. Sir,” said Sam, “why, where was 
you half baptized ? — that’s nothin’, that a’n’t.” 

“ Nothing ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Nothin’ at all. Sir,” replied his attendant. “The night 
afore the last day o’ the last election here, the opposite party 
bribed the bar-maid at the Town Arms to hocus the brandy 
and water of fourteen unpolled electors as was stoppin’ in the 
house.” 

“ What do you mean by ‘hocussing’ brandy and water ?” in- 
quired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Puttin’ laud’num in it,” replied Sam. “ Bless’d if she didn’t 
send -^em all to sleep till twelve hours arter the election was 
over They took one man up to the booth, in a truck, fast 
asleep, by way of experiment, but it was no go — they wouldn’t 
poll him j so they brought him back, and put him to bed 
again.” 


198 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** Strange practices, these,” said Mr. Pickwick, hall* speaking 
to himself, and half addressing Sam. 

‘‘Not half so strange as a miraculous circumstance as hap- 
pened to my own father, at an election -time, in this wery place, 
Sir,” replied Sam. 

“ What was that ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Why, he drove a coach down here once,” said Sam ; “ ’lec- 
tion time came on, and he was engaged by vun party to bring 
down woters from London. Night afore he was going to drive 
up, committee on t’other side sends for him quietly, and away ho 
goes vith the messenger, who shows him in — large room — lots 
of gen’l’m’n — heaps of papers, pens and ink, and all that ’ere. 
‘Ah, Mr. Weller,’ says the gen’l’m’n in the chair, ‘glad to see 
you. Sir; how are you?’ — ‘Wery well, thank’ee. Sir,’ says my 
father; ‘I hope you’re pretty middlin,’ says he — ‘Pretty well, 
thank’ee, Sir,’ says the gen'l’m’n ; ‘ sit down, Mr. Weller — pray 
sit down. Sir.’ So my father sits down, and he and the gen’l’m’n 
looks wery hard at each other. ‘ You don’t remember me ?’ says 
the gen’l’m’n ? — ‘ Can’t say I do,’ says my father — ‘ Oh, I know 
you,’ says the gen’l’m’n ; ‘ know’d you ven you was a boy,’ says 
he. — ‘Well, I don’t remember you,’ says my father — ‘That’s 
wery odd,’ says the gen’l’m’n — ‘Wery,’ says my father — ‘You 
must have a bad memory, Mr. Weller,’ says the gen’l’m’n — ‘ Well, 
it is a wery bad ’un,’ says my father — ‘ I thought so,’ says the 
gen’l’m’n. So then they pours him out a glass o’ wine, and 
gammons him about his driving, and gets him into a reg’lar good 
humor, and at last shoves a twenty pound note in his hand. ‘ It’s 
a wery bad road between this and London,’ says the gen’l’m’n — 
‘Here and there it is a wery heavy road,’ says my father — 
‘’Specially near the canal, I think,’ says the gen’l’m’n — ‘Nasty 
bit, that ’ere, says my father — ‘Well, Mr. Weller,’ says the gen- 
’l’m’n, ‘ you’re a wery good whip and can do what you like with 
your horses, we know. We’re all wery fond of you Mr. Weller, 
so in case you should have an accident when you’re a bringing 
these here woters down, and should tip ’em over into the cnnal 
vithout hurtin’ ’em, this is for yourself,’ says he — ‘ Gen’l’m’n 
you’re wery kind,’ says my father, ‘ and I’ll drink your health in 
another glass of wine,’ says he ; vich he did, and then buttons 
np the money, and bows himself out. You vouldn’t believe, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


199 


Sir,” continued Sara, with a look of inexpressible impudence at 
his master, “that on the wcry day as he came down witli tliein 
wotcrs, Ids coach was upset on that ’ere wery spot, and ev’ry 
man on ’em was turned into the canal.” 

“ And got out again ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, hastily. 

“Why,” replied Sam, very slowly, “I rather think one 
old gentleman was missin’. I know his hat was found, but I 
ain’t quite certain whether his head was in it or not. But what 
I look at, is the hextraordinary and wonderful coincidence, that 
arter what that gen’l’m’n said, my father’s coach should be upset, 
in that wery place, and on that wery day I” 

“ It is, no doubt, a very extraordinary circumstance, indeed,” 
said Mr. Pickwick. “ But brush my hat, Sam, for I hear Mr. 
Winkle calling me to breakfast.” 

With these words, Mr. Pickwick descended to the parlor, 
where he found breakfast laid, and the family already assembled. 
The meal was hastily despatched ; each of the gentlemen’s hats 
was decorated with an enormous blue favor, made up by the fair 
hands of Mrs. Pott herself, and as Mr. Winkle had undertaken 
to escort that lady to a house-top, in the immediate vicinity of 
the hustings, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Pott repaired alone to the 
Town Arms, from the back window of which, one of Mr. Slum- 
key's committee was addressing six small boys, and one girl, 
whom he dignified, at every second sentence, with the imposing 
title of “men of Eatanswill,” whereat the six small boys afore- 
said cheered prodigiously. 

The stable-yard exhibited unequivocal symptoms of the glory 
and strength of the Eatanswill Blues. There was a regular 
army of blue flags, some with one handle, and some with two, 
exhibiting appropriate devices, in golden characters four feet 
high, and stout in proportion. There was a grand band of 
trumpets, bassoons and drums, marshaled four abreast, and 
earning their money, if ever men did, especially the drum-beaters, 
who were very muscular. There were bodies of constables with 
blue staves, twenty coinniittee-meu with blue scarfs, and a mob of 
voters with blue cockades. There were electors on horseback, 
and electors a-foot. There was an open carriage and four, for 
the honorable Samuel Slnmkey ; and there were four carriages 
and pair, for his friends and supporters; and the flags were 


200 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


rustling, and the band was playing, and the constables were 
swearing, and the twenty committee-men were squabbling, and 
the mob were shouting, and the horses were backing, and the 
post-boys perspiring; and everybody and eveiy thing, then and 
there assembled, was for the special use, behoof, honor, and re- 
nown, of the honorable Samuel Slumkey of Slurakey Hall, one 
of the candidates for the representation of the Borough of 
Eatansvvill, in the Commons House of Parliament of the United 
Kingdom. 

Loud and long were the cheers, and mighty was the rustling 
of one of the blue flags, with “ Liberty of the Press” inscribed 
thereon, when the sandy head of Mr. Pott was discerned in one 
of the windows, by the mob beneath ; and tremendous was the 
enthusiasm when the honorable Samuel Slumkey himself, in top 
boots, and a blue neckerchief, advanced and seized the hand of 
the said Pott, and melo-draraatically testified by gestures to the 
crowd, his ineffaceable obligations to the Eatanswill Gazette. 

“Is every thing ready?” said the honorable Samuel Slumkey 
to Mr. Perker. 

“Every thing, my dear Sir,” was the little man’s reply. 

“Nothing has been omitted, I hope?” said the honorable 
Samuel Slumkey. 

“Nothing has been left undone, my dear Sir — nothing what- 
ever. There are twenty washed men at the street door for you 
to shake hands with ; and six children in arms that you’re to pat 
on the head, and inquire the age of; be particular about the 
children, my*dear Sir, — it has always a great effect, that sort of 
thing.” 

“I’ll take care,” said the honorable Samuel Slumkey. 

“And, perhaps, my dear Sir — ” said the cautious little man, 
“perhaps if you could — I don’t mean to say it’s indispensable — 
but it YOU could manage to kiss one of ’em, it would produce a 
very great impression on the crowd.” 

“ W ouldn’t it have as good an effect if the proposer or seconder 
<]id that?” said the honorable Samuel Slumkey. 

“Why, I am afraid it wouldn’t,” replied the agent; “if it were 
done by yourself, my dear Sir, I think it would make you very 
popular.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


201 


“Yery well,” said the honorable Samuel Slumkey, with a 
resigned air, “then it must be done. That's all.” 

“Arrange the procession,” cried the twenty committee-men. 

Amidst the cheers of the assembled throng, the band, and the 
constables, and the committee-men, and the voters, and the horse- 
men, and the carriages, took their places — each of the two-horse 
vehicles being closely packed with as many gentlemen as could 
manage to stand upright in it; and that assigned to Mr. Per- 
ker, containing Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and 
about half a dozen of the committee beside. 

There was a moment of awful suspense as the procession waited 
for the honorable Samuel Slumkey to step into his carriage. 
Suddenly the crowd set up a great cheering. 

“He has come out,” said little Mr. Perker, greatly excited; 
the more so as their position did not enable them to see what 
was going forward. 

Another cheer, much louder. 

“He has shaken hands with the men,” cried the little agent. 

Another cheer, far more vehement. 

“He has patted the babes on the head,” said Mr. Perker, 
trembling with anxiety. 

A roar of applause that rent the air. 

“He has kissed one of 'em!” exclaimed the delighted little 
man. 

A second roar. 

“He has kissed another!” gasped the excited manager. 

A third roar. 

“ He’s kissing 'em all !” screamed the enthusiastic little gen- 
tleman. And hailed by the deafening shouts of the multitude, 
the procession moved on. 

How or by what means it became mixed up with the other 
procession, and how it was ever extricated from the confusion 
consequent thereupon, is more than we can undertake to de 
scribe, inasmuch as Mr. Pickwick's hat was knocked over his 
eyes, nose, and mouth, by one poke of a Buff flag-staff, very early iu 
the proceedings. He describes himself as being surrounded on 
every side, when he could catch a glimpse of the scene, by angry 
and ferocious countenances, by a vast cloud of dust, and by a 
dense crowd of combatants. He represents himself as being 


202 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


forced from the carriage by some unseen power, and being per- 
sonally engaged in a pugilistic encounter ; but with whom, or 
how, or why, he is wholly unable to state. He then felt himself 
forced up some wooden steps by the persons from behind : and 
on removing his hat, found himself surrounded by his friends, in 
the very front of the left-hand side of the hustings. The right 
was reserved for the Buff party, and the centre for the mayor 
and his officers ; one of whom — the fat crier of Eatanswill — was 
ringing an enormous bell, by way of commanding silence, while 
Mr. Horatio Fizkin, and the honorable Samuel Slumkey, with 
their hands upon their hearts, were bowing with the utmost 
affability to the troubled sea of heads that inundated the open ‘ 
space in front ; and from whence arose a storm of groans, and 
shouts, and yells, and hootings, that would have done honor to 
an earthquake. 

“ There’s Winkle,” said Mr. Tupman, pulling his friend by 
the sleeve. 

“ Where ?” said Mr. Pickwick, putting on his spectacles, 
which he had fortunately kept in his pocket hitherto. 

“ There,” said Mr. Tupman, “ on the top of that house.” 
And there, sure enough, in the leaden gutter of a tiled roof, were 
Mr. Winkle and Mrs. Pott, comfortably seated in a couple of 
chairs, waving their handkerchiefs in token of recognition — a 
compliment which Mr. Pickwick returned by kissing his hand 
to the lady. 

The proceedings had not yet commenced : and as an inactive 
crowd is generally disposed to be jocose, this very innocent 
action was sufficient to awaken their facetiousness. 

“Oh you wicked old rascal,” cried one voice, “looking arter 
the girls, are you ?” 

“ Oh you wenerable sinner,” cried another. 

“ Putting on his spectacles to look at a married ’ooman !” said 
a third. 

“ I see him a vinkin’ at her, with his vicked old eyes,” shouted 
a fourth. 

“ Look arter your vife, Pott,” bellowed a fifth ; and then 
there was a roar of laughter. 

As these taunts were accompanied with invidious compari- 
sons between Mr. Pickwick and an aged ram, and seyeral witti- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


203 


cisms of the like nature ; and as they moreover rather tended 
to convey reflections upon the honor of an innocent lady, Mr. 
Pickwick’s indignation was excessive ; but as silence was pro- 
claimed at the moment, he contented liiniself by scorching the 
mob with a look of pity for their misguided minds, at which 
they laughed more boisterously than ever. 

“ Silence,” roared the mayor’s attendants. 

“Whiffin, proclaim silence,” said the mayor, with an air of 
pomp befitting his lofty station. In obedience to this command 
the crier performed another concerto on the bell, whereupon a 
gentleman in the crowd called out “muffins;” which occasioned 
another laugh. 

“ Gentlemen,” said the mayor, at as loud a pitch as he could 
possibly force his voice to, “ Gentlemen. Brother electors of 
the Borough of Eatanswill. We are met here to-day, for the 
purpose of choosing a representative in the room of our late — 

Uere the mayor was interrupted by a voice in the crowd. 

“ Suc-cess to the mayor I” cried the voice, “ and may he never 
desert the nail and sarspan business, as he got his money by.” 

This allusion to the professional pursuits of the orator was 
received with a storm of delight, which, with a bell-accompani- 
ment, rendered the remainder of his speech inaudible, with the 
exception of the concluding sentence, in which he thanked the 
meeting for the patient attention with which they had heard 
liim throughout — an expression of gratitude which elicited an- 
otlier burst of mirth, of about a quarter of an hour’s duration. 

Next, a tali thin gentleman, in a very stiff white neckerchief, 
after being repeatedly desired by the crowd to “ send a boy 
home, to ask whether he hadn’t left his woice under the pil- 
low,” begged to nominate a fit and proper person to represent 
them in rarliament. And when he said it was Horatio Fizkin, 
lisqnire, of Fizkin Lodge, near Eatanswill, the Fizkinites op- 
planded, and the Slumkeyites groaned, so long, and so loudly 
.hat both he and the seconder might have sung comic songs 
in lieu of speaking, without any body’s being a bit the wiser. 

Tlie friends of Horatio Fizkins, Esquire, having had their 
innings, a little choleric, pink-faced man stood forward to pro- 
})Osc another fit and proper person to represent the electors of 
Eiita/isvrill in Parliament; and very swimmingly the pink-faced 


204 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


gentleman would have got on, if he had not been rather too 
choleric to entertain a sufficient perception of the fun of the 
crowd. But after a very few sentences of figurative eloquence, 
the pink-faced gentleman got from denouncing those who inter- 
rupted him in the mob, to exchanging defiances with tlie gen- 
tlemen on the hustings ; whereupon arose an uproar which 
reduced him to the necessity of expressing his feeling by serious 
pantomime, which he did, and then left the stage to his seconder 
who delivered a written speech of half an hour’s length, and 
w'ouldn’t be stopped, because he had sent it all to the Eatans- 
will Gazette, and the Eatanswill Gazette had printed it every 
word. 

Then Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, near Eatans- 
will, presented himself for the purpose of addressing the elec- 
tors; which he no sooner did, than the band employed l)y the 
honorable Samuel Slumkey, commenced performing with a 
power to which their strength in the morning was a trifle ; in 
return for which, the Buff crowd belabored the heads and shoul- 
ders of the Blue crowd ; on which the Blue crowd endeavored 
to dispossess themselves of their very unpleasant neighbors the 
Buff crowd; and a scene of struggling, and pushing, and fight- 
ing, succeeded, to which we can no more do justice than the 
mayor could, although he issued imperative orders to twelve 
constables to seize the ringleaders, who might amount in num- 
ber to two hundred and fifty, or thereabouts. At all these en- 
counters, Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, and his 
friends, waxed fierce and furious ; until at last, Horatio Fizkin, 
Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, begged to ask his opponent, the 
honorable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, whether that band 
played by his consent; which question the honorable Samuel 
Slumkey declining to answer, Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of 
Fizkin Lodge, shook his fist in the countenance of the honor- 
able Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall; upon which the honor- 
able Samuel Slumkey, his blood being up, defied Horatio Fizkin. 
Esquire, to mortal combat. At this violation of all known 
rules and precedents of order, the mayor commanded another 
fantasia on the bell, and declared that he would bring before 
himself, both Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, and 
the honorable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, and bind 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


205 


them OTer to keep the peace. Upon this terrific denun- 
ciation, the supporters of the two candidates interfered, and 
after the friends of each party had quarreled in pairs for three- 
quarters of an houi, Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, touched his hat 
to tlie honorable Samuel Slumkey; the honorable Samuel Slum- 
key touched his to Horatio Fizkin, Esquire; the band was 
stopped, the crow’d was partially quieted, and Horatio Fizkin, 
Esquire, was permitted to proceed. 

The speeches of the two candidates, though differing in every 
other respect, afforded a beautiful tribute to the merit and high 
worth of the electors of Eatanswill. Both expressed their opinion 
that a more independent, a more enlightened, a more public- 
spirited, a more noble-minded, a more disinterested set of men 
man those who had promised to vote for him, never existed on 
earth ; each darkly hinted his suspicions that the electors in the 
opposite interest had certain swinish and besotted infirmities, 
which rendered them unfit for the exercise of the important du- 
ties they were called upon to discharge. Fizkin expressed his 
readiness to do any thing he was wanted ; Slumkey, his deter- 
mination to do nothing that was asked of him. Both said that 
the trade, the manufactures, the commerce, the prosperity, of 
Etanswill, would ever be dearer than any earthly object ; and 
each had it in his power to state, with the utmost confidence, 
that he was the man who would eventually be returned. 

There was a show of hands ; the mayor decided in favor of 
the honorable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall. Horatio 
Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, demanded a poll, and a poll 
was fixed accordingly. Then a vote of thanks was moved to 
the mayor for his able conduct in the chair ; and the mayor, de- 
voutly washing that he had had a chair to display his conduct in 
(for lie had been standing during the whole proceedings) re- 
turned thanks. The processions re-formed, the carriages rollecl 
slowly through the crowd, and its members screeched and 
shouted after them as their feelings or caprice dictated. 

Furing the whole time of the polling, the town was in a per- 
petual fever of excitement. Every thing was conducted on the 
most liberal and delightful scale. Exciseable articles were re- 
markably cheap at all the public houses ; and spring vans 
paraded the streets for the accommodation of voters who were 


206 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


seized with any temporary dizziness in the head — an epidemic 
which prevailed among the electors, during the contest, to a most 
alarming extent, and under the influence of which, they might 
frequently be seen lying on the pavement in a state of utter in- 
sensibility. A small body of electors remained unpolled on the 
very last day. They were calculating and reflecting persons, 
who had not yet been convinced by the arguments of either party, 
although they had had frequent conferences with each. One 
hour before the close of the poll, Mr. Perker solicited the honor 
of a private interview with these intelligent, these noble, these 
patriotic men. It was granted. His arguments were brief, but 
satisfactory. They went in a body to the poll ; and when they 
returned, the honorable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, was 
returned also. 


CHAPTER XV. 


COMPRISING A BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THE COMPANY AT THE 

PEACOCK ASSEMBLED J AND A TALE TOLD BY A BAGMAN. 

It is pleasant to turn from contemplating the strife and tur- 
moil of political existence, to the peaceful repose of private life. 
Although in reality no great partizan of either side, Mr. Pick- 
wick was sufficiently fired with Mr. Pott’s enthusiasm, to apply 
his whole time and attention to the proceedings, of which the 
last chapter affords a description compiled from his own memo- 
randa. Nor while he was thus occupied was Mr. Winkle idle, 
his whole time being devoted to pleasant walks and short eouu- 
try excursions with Mrs. Pott, who never failed, when such an 
opportunity presented itself, to seek some relief from the tedious 
monotony she so constantly complained of. The two gentlemen 
being thus completely domesticated in the editor’s house, Mr. 
Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were in a great measure cast upon 
their own resources. Taking but little interest in public affairs, 
they beguiled their time chiefly with such amusements as the 
Peacock afforded, which were limited to a bagatelle-board in the 
first floor, and a sequestered skittle-ground in the back-yard. In 
the science and nicety of both these recreations, which are far 
more abstruse than ordinary men suppose, they were gradually 
initiated by Mr. Weller, who possessed a perfect knowledge of 
such pastimes. Thus, notwithstanding that they were in a great 
measure deprived of the comfort and advantage of Mr. Pick- 
wick’s society, they were still enabled to beguile the time, and to 
prevent its hanging heavily on their hands. 

It was in the evening, however, that the Peacock presented 
attractions which enabled the two friends to resist even the in- 
vitations of the talented, though prosily inclined, Mr. Pott. It 
was in the evening that the “ commercial room” was filled with 
a social circle, whosi characters and manners it was the delight 

(20t> 


208 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


of Mr. Tupman to observe; whose sayings and doings it was 
the habit of Mr. Snodgrass to note down. 

Most people know what sort of places commercial rooms 
sually are. That of the Peacock differed in no material respect 
om the generality of such apartments : that is to say, it was a 
arge, bare-looking room, the furniture of which had no doubt 
been better when it was newer, with a spacious table in the 
centre, and a variety of smaller dittos in the corners ; an exten- 
sive assortment of variously shaped chairs, and an old Turkey 
carpet, bearing about the same relative proportion to the size 
of the room, as a lady’s pocket-handkerchief might to the floor 
of a watch-box. The walls were garnished with one or two 
large maps ; and several weather-beaten rough great-coats, with 
complicated capes, dangled from a long row of pegs in one cor- 
ner. The mantel-shelf was ornamented with a wooden inkstand, 
containing one stump of a pen and half a wafer, a road-book and 
directory, a county history minus the cover, and the mortal 
remains of a trout in a glass coffin. The atmosphere was redo- 
lent of tobacco-smoke, the fumes of which had communicated a 
rather dingy hue to the whole room, and more especially to the 
dusty red curtains which shaded tlie windows. On the side- 
board, a variety of miscellaneous articles were huddled together, 
the most conspicuous of which were some very cloudy fish-sauce 
cruets, a couple of driving-boxes, two or three whips, and as 
many traveling shawls, a tray of knives and forks, and the 
mustard. 

Here it was that Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were seated 
on the evening after the conclusion of the election, with several 
other temporary inmates of the house, smoking and drinking. 

“Well gents,” said a stout, hale personage of about forty, 
with only one eye — a very bright, black eye, which twinkled 
with a rougish expression of fun and good humor, “ Our noble 
selves, gents. I always propose that toast to the company, and 
drink Mary to myself. Eh, Mary ?” 

“ Get along with you, you wretch,” said the hand-maiden, 
obviously not ill pleased with the compliment, however. 

“Don’t go away, Mary,” said the black-eyed man. 

“Let me alone, imperence,” said the young lady. 

“Never mind,” said the one-eyed man, calling after the girl 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


209 


as she left the room. “I’ll step out by and by, Mary. Keep 
your spirits up, dear.” Here he went through the not very 
difficult process of winking upon the company with his solitary 
eye, to the enthusiastic delight of an elderly personage with a 
dirty face and a clay pipe. 

“Rum creeters is women,” said the dirty-faced man, after a 
pause. 

“Ah I no mistake about that,” said a very red-faced man, behind 
a cigar. 

After this little bit of philosophy, there was another pause. 

“There’s rummer things than women in this world though, 
mind you,” said the man with the black eye, slowly filling a large 
Dutch pipe, with a most capacious bowl. 

“Are you married?” inquired the dirty-faced man. 

“ Can’t say I am.” 

“I thought not.” Here the dirty-faced man fell into ecstasies 
of mirth at his own retort, in which he was joined by a man of 
bland voice and placid countenance, who always made it a point 
to agree with every body. 

“Women after all, gentleman,” said the enthusiastic Mr. 
Snodgrass, “are the great props ana comforts of our ex- 
istence.” 

“ So they are,” said the placid gentleman. 

“When they’re in a good humor,” interposed the dirty- 
faced man. 

“And that’s very true,” said the placid one. 

“I repudiate that qualification,” said Mr. Snodgrass, whose 
thoughts were fast reverting to Emily Wardle, “I repudiate 
it with disdain — with indignation Show me the man who 
says any thing against women, as women, and I boldly declare 
he is not a man.” And Mr. Snodgrass took his cigar from 
his mouth, and struck the table violently with his clenched 
fist. 

“That’s good sound argument,” said the placid man. 

“Containing a position which I deny,” interrupted he ot 
the dirty countenance. 

“ And there’s certainly a very great deal of truth in what 
you observe, too, Sir,” said the placid gentleman. 

14 


210 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


**Your health, Sir,” said the bagman with the lonely eye, 
bestowing an approving nod on Mr. Snodgrass. 

Mr. Snodgrass acknowledged the compliment. 

“I always like to hear a good argument,” continued the 
bagman, “a sharp one, like this; it’s very improving; but 
this little argument about women brought to my mind a story 
I have heard an old uncle of mine tell, the recollection of 
whicl), just now, made me say there were rummer things than 
women to be met with, sometimes.” 

“I should like to hear that same story,” said the red-faced 
man with the cigar. 

“Should you?” was the only reply of the bagman, who 
continued to smoke with great vehemence. 

“So should I,” said Mr. Tupmaii, speaking for tlie first 
time. He was always anxious to increase his stock of expe- 
rience. 

“Should you‘i Well then. I’ll tell it. No, I won’t. 1 
know you won’t believe it,” said the man with the roguish 
eye, making that organ look more roguish than ever. 

“If you say it’s true, of course I shall,” said Mr. Tupman. 

“Well, upon that understanding I’ll tell it,” replied the 
iraveler. “Did you ever hear of the great commercial house 
of Bilson iiid Slum? But it doesn’t matter, though, wliether 
you did o; not, because they retired from business long since. 
It’s eighty years ago, since the circumstance ha’piiened to a 
traveler for that house, but he was a particular friend of my 
uncle’s: and my uncle told the story to me. It’s a queer 
name ; but he used to call it 

THE BAGMAN’S STORY. 

and he used to tell it something in this way. 

“ One winter’s evening, about five o’clock, just as it began 
to grow dusk, a man in a gig might have been seen urging 
liis tired horse along the road which leads across Marlborough 
Downs, in the direction of Bristol. I say he might have been 
seen, and I have no doubt he would have been, if any body 
but a blind man had happened to pass that way; but the 
weather was so bad, and the night so cold and wet, that 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


211 


nothing was out but the water, and so the traveler jogged along 
in the middle of the road, lonesome and dreary enough. If 
any bagman of that day could have caught sight of the little 
neck-or-nothing sort of gig, with a clay-colored body and 
red wheels, and the vixenish, ill-tempered, fast-going bay 
mare, that looked like a cross between a butcher’s horse and 
a twopenny post-office pony, he would have known at once, 
that this traveler could have been no other than Tom Smart, 
of the great house of Bilson and Slum, Cateaton Street, City. 
However, as. there was no bagman to look on, nobody knew 
any thing at all about the matter; and so Tom Smart and his 
clay-colored gig with the red wheels, and the vixenish mare 
with the fast pace, went on together, keeping the secret among 
them, and nobody was a bit the wiser. 

“There are many pleasanter places even in this dreary 
world, than Marlborough Downs when it blows hard ; and if 
you throw in beside, a gloomy winter’s evening, a miry and 
sloppy road, and a pelting fall of heavy rain, and try the effect, 
by way of experiment, in your own proper person, you will 
experience the full force of this observation. 

“The wind blew — not up the road or down it, though that’s 
bad enough, but sheer across it, sending the rain slanting 
down like the lines they used to rule in the copy-books at 
school, to make the boys slope well. For a moment it would 
die away, and the traveler would begin to delude himself into 
the belief that, exhausted with its previous fury, it had quietly 
lain itself down to rest, when whoo I he would hear it growling 
and whistling in the distance, and on it would come rushing 
over the hill-tops, and sweeping along the plain, gathering 
sound and strength as it drew nearer, until it dashed with a 
heavy gust against horse and man, driving the sharp rain into 
their ears, a/.d its cold damp breath into their very bones; 
and past them it would scour, far, far away, with a stunning 
roar, as if in ridicule of their weakness, and triumphant in the 
consciousness of its own strength and power. 

“ The bay mare splashed away, through the mud and water, 
with drooping ears, now and then tossing her head as if to ex- 
press her disgust at this very ungentlemanly behavior of the 
elements, but keeping good pace notwithstanding, until a gust 


212 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


of wind more furious than any that had yet assailed them, 
caused her to stop suddenly, and plant her four feet firmly 
against the ground, to prevent her being blown over. It’s a 
special mercy that she did this, for if she had been blown ove 
the vixenish mare was so light, and the gig was so light, and 
Tom Smart such a light weight into the bargain, that they must 
infallibly have all gone rolling over and over together, until they 
reached the confines of earth, or until the wind fell ; and in 
either case the probability is, that neither the vixenish mare, nor 
the clay-colored gig with the red wheels, nor Tom Smart, would 
ever have been fit for service again. 

“‘Well, damn my straps and whiskers,^ says Tom Smart, 
(Tom sometimes had an unpleasant knack of swearing,) ‘ damn 
my straps and whiskers,’ says Tom, ‘ if this ain’t pleasant, blow 
me.’ 

“You’ll very likely ask me, why, as Tom Smart had been 
pretty well blown already, he expressed this wish to be sub- 
mitted to the same process again. I can’t say — all I know is, 
that Tom Smart said so — or at least he always told my uncle 
he said so, and it’s just the same thing. 

“‘Blow me,’ says Tom Smart; and the mare neighed as if 
she were precisely of the same opinion. 

“ ‘ Cheer up, old girl,’ said Tom, patting the bay mare on the 
neck with the end of his whip. ‘ It won’t do pushing on such 
a night as this ; the first house we come to we’ll put up at, so 
the faster you go, the sooner it’s over. Soho, old girl — gently 
. — gently.’ 

“ Whether the vixenish mare was sufficiently well acquainted 
with the tones of Tom’s voice to comprehend his meaning, or 
whether she found it colder standing still than moving on, of 
course I can’t say. But I can say that Tom had no sooner 
finished speaking, than she pricked up her ears, and started for- 
ward at a speed which made the clay-colored gig rattle till you 
would have supposed every one of the red spokes was going to 
fly out on the turf of Marlborough Downs ; and even Tom, whip 
as he was, couldn’t stop or check her pace, until she drew up, 
of her own accord, before a roadside inn, on the right-hand side 
of the way, about half a quarter of a mile from the end of the 
Downs. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


218 


** Tom cast a hasty glance at the upper part of the house as 
he threw the reins to the hostler, and stuck the whip in the 
box. It was a strange old place, built of a kind of shingle, in- 
laid, as it were, with cross-beams, with gable-topped windows 
projecting completely over the pathway, and a low door with a 
dark porcli, and a couple of steep ste[)s leading down into the 
house, instead of the modern fashion of half a dozen shallow ones, 
leading up to it. It was a comfortable-looking place though, 
for there was a strong cheerful light in the bar-window, whicj 
shed a bright ray across the road, and even lighted up the 
hedge on the other side ; and there was a red flickering light in 
the opposite window, one moment but faintly discernible, and 
the next gleaming strongly through the drawn curtains, which 
intimated that a rousing tire was blazing within. Marking these 
little evidences with the eye of an experienced traveler, Tom 
dishio unted with as much agility as his half-frozen limbs would 
permit, and entered the house. 

“ In less than five minutes’ time, Tom was ensconced in the 
room opposite the bar — the very room where he had imagined 
the fire blazing — before a substantial matter-of-fact, roaring fire, 
composed of something short of a bushel of coals, and wood 
enough to make half a dozen decent gooseberry-bushes, piled 
half-way up the chimney, and roaring and crackling with a 
sound that of itself would have warmed the heart of any reason- 
able man. This was comfortable, but this was not all, for a 
smartly dressed girl, with a bright eye and a neat ankle, was 
laying a very clean white cloth on the table ; and as Tom sat 
with his slippered feet on the. fender, and his back to the open 
door, be saw a charming prospect of the bar reflected in the 
glass over the chimney-piece, with delightful rows of green 
bottles and gold labels, together with jars of pickles and pre- 
serves, and cheeses and boiled hams, and rounds of beef, ar- 
ranged on shelves in the most tempting and delicioub array. 
Well, this was comfortable too ; but this was not all — for in the 
bar, seated at tea, at the nicest possible little table, drawn close 
up before the brightest pos.sible little fire, was a buxom widow 
of somewhere about eight-and-forty or thefeabouts, with a face 
as comfortable as the bar, who was evidently the landlady of 
the house, and the supreme ruler over all these agreeable pos- 


214 


THE PICKWICK ^PAPERS. 


sessions. There was only one drawback to the beauty of the 
whole picture, and that was a tall man — a very tall man — in a 
brown coat and bright basket buttons, and black whiskers, and 
wavy black hair, who was seated at tea with the widow, and 
who it required no great penetration to discover was in a fair 
way of persuading her to be a widow no longer, but to confer 
upon him the privilege of sitting down in that bar for and 
during the whole remainder of the term of his natural life. 

“ Tom Smart was by no means of an irritable or envious dis- 
position, but somehow or other, the tall man with the brown 
coat, and the bright basket buttons, did rouse what little gall he 
had in his composition, and did make him feel extremely indig- 
nant, the more especially as he could now and then observe from 
his seat before the glass, certain little affectionate familiarities 
passing between the tall man and the widow, which sufficiently 
denoted that the tall man was as high in fafor as he was in size. 
Tom was fond of hot punch — I may venture to say he was very 
fond of hot punch — and after he had seen the vixenish mare well 
fed and well littered down, and eaten every bit of the nice little 
hot dinner which the widow tossed up for him with her awn 
hands, he just ordered a tumbler of it, by way of experiment. 
Now if there was one thing in the whole range of domestic art, 
which the widow could manufacture better than another, it was 
this identical article ; and the first tumbler was ada pted to Tom 
Smart’s taste with such peculiar nicety, that he ordei’ed a seco>»l 
with the leadt possible delay. Hot punch is a pleasant thing, 
gentlemen — an extremely pleasant thing under any circumstances 
—but in that snug old parlor, before the roaring fire, with the 
wind blowing outside till every timber in the old house creaked 
again, Tom Smart found it perfectly delightful. He ordered 
another tumbler, and then another — I am not quite certain 
whether he didn’t order another after that — but the more he 
drank of the hot punch the more he thought of the tall man. 

“‘Confound his impudence,’ said Tom Smart to himself, 
’ what business has he in that snug bar? Such an ugly villain 
100 !’ said Tom. ‘ If the widow had any taste, she might surely 
pick up some better t'ellow than that.’ Here Tom’s eye wandered 
from the glass on the chimney-piece, to the glass on the table, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


215 


and as }ie felt himself becoming gradually sentimental, he emptied 
the fourth tumbler of punch, and ordered a fifth. 

“ Toil! Smart, gentlemen, had always been very much attached 
to the public line. It had long been his ambition to stand in a 
bar of his own, in a green coat, knee-cords, and tops. He had 
a great notion of taking the chair at convivial dinners, and ho 
had often thought how well he could preside in a room of his 
own, in the talking way, and what a capital example he could set 
to his customers in the drinking department. All these things 
passed rapidly through Tom’s mind, as he sat drinking the hot 
punch by the roaring fire, and he felt very justly and properly 
indignant that the tall man should be in a fair way of keeping 
such an excellent house, while he, Tom Smart, was as far off 
from it as ever. So, after deliberating over the two last tum- 
blers, whether he hadn’t a perfect right to pick a quarrel with 
the tall man for having contrived to get into the good graces of 
the buxom widow, Tom Smart at last arrived at the satisfactory 
conclusion that he was a very ill-used and persecuted individual, 
and had better go to bed. 

“Up a wide and ancient staircase the smart girl preceded 
Tom, shading the chamber candle with her hand, to protect it 
from the currents of air which in such a rambling old place might 
have found plenty of room to disport themselves in, without 
blowing the candle out, but which did blow it out, nevertheless ; 
thus affording Tom’s enemies an opportunity of asserting that it 
was he, and not the wind, who extinguished the candle, and that 
while he pretended to be blowing it a-light again, he was in fact 
kissing the girl. Be this as it may, another light was obtained, 
and Tom was conducted through a maze of rooms, and a laby- 
rinth of passages, to the apartment which had been prepared for 
his reception, where the girl bid him good night, and left him 
alo) e. 

“ It was a good large room with big closets, and a bed which 
might have served for a whole boarding-school, to say nothing 
of a couple of oaken presses that would have held the baggage 
of a small army. But what struck Tom’s fancy most, was a 
strange, grim-looking, high-backed chair, carved in the most 
fantastic manner, with a fiowered damask cushion, and the round 
knobs at the bottom of the legs carefully tied up in red cloth, as 


216 


THE PICKWICK Papers. 


if it had got the gOut in its toes. Of any other queer chair, 
Tom would only have thought it was a queer chair, and there 
would have been an end of the matter ; but there was something 
about this particular chair, and yet he couldn’t tell wdiat it was, 
so odd and so unlike any other piece of furniture he had ever 
seen, that it seemed to fascinate him. He sat down before tlie 
fire, and stared at the old chair for half an hour ; — damn tlie 
chair, it was such a strange old thing, he couldn’t take his 
eyes off it. 

“ ‘Well,’ said Tom, slowly undressing himself, and staring at 
the old chair all the while, which stood with a mysterious aspect 
by the bedside, ‘ I never saw such a rum concern as that in my 
days. Very odd,’ said Tom, who had got rather sage with the 
hot punch, ‘Very odd.’ Tom shook his head with an air of 
profound wisdom, and looked at the chair again. He couldn’t 
make anything of it though, so he got into bed, covered himself 
up wmrm, and fell asleep. 

“ In about half an hour, Tom woke up with a start, fi’om a 
confused dream of tall men and tumblers of punch : and the first 
object that presented itself to his waking imagination was the 
queer chair. 

“ ‘I won’t look at it any more,’ said Tom to himself, and he 
squeezed his eyelids together, and tried to persuade himself he 
was going to sleep again. No use ; nothing but queer chairs 
danced before his eyes, kicking up their legs, jumping over each 
other’s backs, and playing all kinds of antics. 

“ ‘ I may as well see one real chair, as two or three complete 
sets of fahe ones,’ said Tom, bringing out his head from under 
the bed-clothes. There it was, plainly discernible by the light 
of the fire, looking as provoking as ever. 

“ Tom gazed at the chair, and suddenly, as he looked at it, a 
most extrordinary change seemed to come over it. The carving 
of the back gradually assumed the lineaments and expression of 
an old shriveled human face ; the damask cushion became an 
antique, flapped waistcoat ; the round knobs grew into a couple 
of feet, encased in red cloth slippers, and the whole chair 
looked like a very ugly old man, of the previous century, 
with his arms a-kimbo. Tom sat up in bed, and rubbed hia 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


217 


eyes to dispel the illusion. No. The chair was an ugly old 
gentleman ; and what was more, he was winking at Tom Smart. 

“ Tom was naturally a headlong, careless sort of dog, and he 
had had five tumblers of punch into the bargain ; so, although he 
was a little startled at first, he began to grow rather indignant 
when he saw the old gentleman winking and leering at him with 
such an impudent air. At length he resolved that he wouldn’t 
stand it ; and as the old face still kept winking away as fast as 
ever, Tom said, in a very angry tone — 

‘ What the devil are you winking at me for 

“ ‘Because I like it, Tom Smart,’ said the chair, or the old 
gentleman, whichever you like to call him. He stopped wink- 
ing though, when Tom spoke, and began grinning like a super- 
annuated monkey. 

“ ‘ How do you know my name, old nut-cracker face V in- 
quired Tom Smart, rather staggered ; — though he pretended to 
carry it off so well. 

“ ‘Come, come, Tom,’ said the old gentleman, ‘that’s not the 
way to address solid Spanish mahogany. Dam’me, you couldn’t 
treat me with less respect if I was veneered.’ When the old 
gentleman said this, he looked so fierce that Tom began to grow 
frightened. 

“ ‘ I didn’t mean to treat you with any disrespect. Sir,’ said 
Tom ; in a much humbler tone than he had spoken in at first. 

“‘Well, well,’ said the old fellow, ‘perhaps not — perhaps 
not. Tom — ’ 

“ ‘ Sir — ’ 

“ ‘ I know every thing about you, Tom ; every thing. You’re 
very poor, Tom.’ 

“ ‘I certainly am,’ said Tom Smart. ‘But how came you to 
know that V 

“ ‘Never mind that,’ said the old gentleman; ‘you’re much 
too fond of punch, Tom. ’ 

“ Tom Smart was just on the point of protesting that he 
hadn’t tasted a drop since his last birth-day, but when his eye 
encountered that of the old gentleman, he looked so knowing 
that Tom blushed, and was silent. 

“ ‘ Tom,’ said the old gentleman, ‘the widow’s a fine woman 
— ^remarkably fine woman — eh, Tom?’ Here the old fellow 


218 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


screwed up his eyes, cocked up one of his wasted little legs, and 
looked altogetl.er so unpleasantly amorous, that Tom was quite 
disgusted with the levity of his behavior ; — at his time of life, 
too I 

“ ‘ I am her guardian, Tom,^ said the old gentleman. . 

“ ‘ Are you inquired Tom Smart. 

“‘I knew her mother, Tom,’ said the old fellow; ‘and her 
grandmother. She was very fond of me — made me this waist- 
coat, Tom.’ 

“ ‘ Did she ?’ said Tom Smart. 

“ ‘ And these shoes,’ said the old fellow, lifting up one of the 
red-cloth mufflers ; ‘ but don’t mention it, Tom. I shouldn’t like 
to have it known that she was so much attached to me. It 
might occasion some unpleasantness in the family.’ When the 
old rascal said this, he looked so extremely impertinent, that, as 
Tom Smart afterwards declared, he could have sat upon him 
without remorse. 

“ ‘ I have been a great favorite among the women, in my time, 
Tom,’ said the profligate old debauchee; ‘hundreds of fine 
women have sat in my lap for hours together. What do you 
think of that, you dog, eh V The old gentleman was proceed- 
ing to recount some other exploits of his youth, when he was 
seized with such a violent fit of creaking that he was unable to 
proceed. 

“ ‘ Just serves you right, old boy,’ thought Tom Smart ; but 
he didn’t say any thing. 

“ ‘Ah !’ said the old fellow, ‘ I am a good deal troubled with 
this now. I am getting old, Tom, and have lost nearly all my 
rails. I have had an operation performed too — a small piece 
let into my back — and I found it a severe trial, Tom.’ 

“ ‘ I dare say you did. Sir,’ said Tom Smart. 

“ ‘ However,’ said the old gentleman, ‘that’s not the pointy 
Tom. I want you to man*y the widow.’ 

“ ‘ Me, Sir I’ said Tom. 

“ ‘You,’ said the old gentleman. 

“ ‘ Bless your reverend locks,’ said Tom — (lie had a few scat- 
tered horse-hairs left) — ‘ bless your reverend locks, she wouldn’t 
have me.’ And Tom sighed involuntarily, as he thought of 
the bar. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


219 


‘ WouldnH she ?’ said the old gentleman, firmly. 

^“No, no,’ said Tom ; ‘there’s somebody else in the wind. 
A tall man — a confoundedly tall man — with black wliiskers.* 

“ ‘ Tom,’ said the old gentleman, ‘ she will never have him.’ 

“‘Won’t she?’ said Tom. ‘If you stood in the bar, old 
gentleman, you’d tell another story.’ 

“ ‘ Pooh, pooh,’ said the old gentleman, ‘ I know all about 
that.’ 

“ ‘ About what ?’ said Tom. 

“ ‘ The kissing behind the door, and all that sort of thing, 
Tom,’ said the old gentleman, and here he gave another impu- 
dent look, which made Torn very wroth, because as you all 
know, gentlemen, to hear an old fellow, who ought to know bet- 
ter, talking about these things, is very unpleasant — nothing 
more so. 

“ ‘ I know all about that, Tom,’ said the old gentleman. ‘ I 
have seen it done very often in my time, Tom, between more 
people than I should like to mention to you ; but it never came 
to any thing after all.’ 

“ ‘ You must have seen some queer things,’ said Tom, with an 
inquisitive look. 

“‘You may say that, Tom,’ replied the old fellow, with a 
very coraplicated wink. ‘ I am the last of my family, Tom,’ 
said the old gentleman, with a melancholy sigh. 

“ - Was it a large one ?’ inquired Tom Smart. 

“ • I'liere were twelve of us, Tom,’ said the old gentleman ; 
‘ fine strcvight-backea handsome fellows as you’d wish to see. 
None oi your modern abortions — all with arms, and with a de- 
gree of pohsh, thougn 1 say it that should not, which it would 
have done )oar heart good to behold.’ 

“‘And what’s become of the others. Sir?’ asked Tom 
Smart. 

“ ‘ The old gentleman applied his elbow to his eyes as he re- 
plied, ‘ Gone, Tom, gone. We had hard service, Tom, and 
they hadn’t all my constitution. They got rheumatic about the 
legs and arms, and went into kitchens and other hospitals ; and 
one of ’em, with long service and hard usage, positively lost 
his senses ; he got so crazy that he was obliged to be burnt 
Shocking thing that, Tom.’ 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ ‘Dreadful I’ said Tom Smart. 

“ The old fellow paused for a few minutes, apparently jug- 
gling with his feelings of emotion, and then said, 

“ ‘ However, Tom, I am wandering from the point. Ti is tall 
man, Tom, is a rascally adventurer. The moment he raaified 
the widow, he would sell off all the furniture, and run away. 
What would be the consequence ? She would be deserted 
and reduced to ruin, and 1 should catch my death of cold in 
some ])roker’s shop.’ 

“‘Yes, but — ’ 

“ ‘Don’t interrupt me,’ said the old gentleman. ‘ Of you, 
Tom, I entertain a very different opinion ; for I well know 
that if you once settled yourself in a public-house, you would 
never leave it, as long as there was any thing to drink within 
its walls.’ 

“ ‘ I am very much obliged to you for your good opinion, 
Sii,’ said Tom Smart. 

“ ‘ Therefore,’ resumed the old gentleman, in a dictatorial 
tone, ‘you shall have her, and he shall not.’ 

“ ‘ What is to prevent it?’ said Tom Smart, eagerly. 

“ ‘This disclosure,’ replied the old gentleman ; ‘he is already 
married.’ 

“ ‘ How can I prove it ?’ said Tom, starting half out of 
bed. 

“ The old gentleman untucked his arm from his side, and 
having pointed to one of the oaken presses, immediately re- 
placed it in its old position. 

“ ‘ He little thinks,’ said the old gentleman, ‘ that in the 
right-hand pocket of a pair of trousers in that press, he has 
left a letter, entreating him to return to his disconsolate wife, 
with six — mark me, Tom — six babes, and all of them small 
ones.’ 

“ As the old gentleman solemnly uttered these words, his 
features grew less and less distinct, and his figure more shadowy. 
A film came over Tom Smart’s eyes. The old man seemed 
gradually blending into the chair, the damask waistcoat to re- 
solve into a cushion, the red slippers to shrink into little red 
cloth bags. The light faded gently away, and Tom Smart fell 
back on his pillow and dropped asleep. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


221 


\Corning roused Tom from the lethargic slumber, into 
which he had fallen on the disappearance of the old man. He 
sat up in bed, and for some minutes vainly endeavored to recall 
the events of the preceding night. Suddenly they rushed upon 
him. He looked at the chair; it was a fantastic and grim- 
looking piece of furniture, certainly, but it must have been a 
remarkably ingenious and lively imagination, that could have 
discovered any resemblance between it and an old man. 

“ ‘ How are you, old boy V said Tom. He was bolder in 
the daylight — most men are. 

“ The chair remained motionless, and spoke not a word. 

“ ‘ Miserable morning,’ said Tom. No. The chair would 
not be drawn into conversation. 

“ ‘ Which press did you point to ? — you can tell me that,’ 
said Tom. Devil a word, gentlemen, the chair would say. 

“ ‘ It’s not much trouble to open it, anyhow,’ said Tom, get- 
ting out of bed very deliberately. He walked up to one of the 
presses. The key was in the lock ; he turned it, and opened 
the door. There was a pair of trousers there. He put his 
hand into the pocket, and drew forth the identical letter the old 
gentleman had described I 

“ ‘ Queer sort of thing, this,’ said Tom Smart; looking first 
at the* chair, and then at the press, and then at the letter, and 
then at the chair again. ‘Very queer,’ said Tom. But as 
there was nothing in either to lessen the queerness, he thought 
he might as well dress himself, and settle the tall man’s business 
at once — -just to put him out of his misery. 

“ * Tom surveyed the rooms he passed through, on his way 
down stairs, with the scrutinising eye of a landlord ; thinking it 
not impossible, that before long, they and their contents would 
be bis property. The tall man was standing in the snug little 
bar, with his hands behind him, quite at home. He grinned 
viicantly at Tom. A casual observer might have supposed he 
did it, only to show his white teeth ; but Tom Smart thought 
that a consciousness of triumph was passing through the place 
where the tall man’s mind would have been, if lie had had any. 
Tom laughed in his face ; and summoned the landlady. 

“ ‘ Good morning. Ma’am,” said Tom Smart, closing the 
door of the little parlor as the widow entered. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ * Good morning, Sir,” said the widow. ‘ What will you 
take for breakfast, Sir V 

“ Tom was thinking how he should open the case, so he made 
no answer. 

“ ‘ There’s a very nice ham,’ said the widow, ‘ and a beau- 
tiful cold larded fowl. Shall I send ’em in. Sir ?’ 

“ These words roused Tom from his reflections. Ilis admi 
ration of the widow increased as she spoke. Thoughtful crea 
ture I Comfortable provider 1 

“ ‘ Who is that gentleman in the bar, Ma’am ?’ inquired 
Tom. 

“ * His name is Jinkins, Sir,’ said the widow, slightl} 
blushing. 

“ ‘ He’s a tall man,’ said Tom. 

“ ‘ He is a very fine man. Sir,’ replied the widow, ‘ and a 
very nice gentleman.’ 

“ ‘ Ah 1’ said Tom. 

‘ Is there any thing more you want. Sir ?” inquired iho 
widow, rather puzzled by Tom’s manner. 

“ ‘ Why, yes,’ said Tom. ‘ My dear Ma’am, will you have 
the kindness to sit down forme moment !’ 

“ The widow looked much amazed, but she sat down, and 
Tom sat down too, close beside her. I don’t know how it 
happened, gentlemen — indeed my uncle used to tell me that 
Tom Smart said he didn’t know how it happened either — but 
somehow or other the palm of Tom’s hand fell upon the back 
of the widow’s hand, and remained there while he spoke. 

“ ‘ My dear Ma’am,’ said Tom Smart — he had always a 
great notion of committing the amiable — ‘ My dear Ma’am, you 
deserve a very excellent husband — ^you do indeed.’ 

“‘Lor, Sir!’ said the widow — as well she might; Toni’s 
mode of commencing the conversation being rather unusual, not 
to say startling, the fact of his never having set eyes upon her 
before the previous night, being taken into consideration. ‘ Lor, 
Sir !’ 

“ ’ I scorn td flatter, my dear Ma’am,’ said Tom Smart. 

‘ \ ou deserve a very admirable husband, and whoever he is, 
he’ll be a very lucky man.’ As Tom said this, his eye involun- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


228 


tarily wandered from the widow’s face to the comforts aronnd 
him. 

“ The widow looked mv)re puzzled than ever, and made an 
effort to rise. Tom gently pressed her hand, as if to detain her, 
and she kept her seat. Widows, gentlemen, are not usually 
timorous, as. my uncle used to say. 

‘ I am sure I am very much obliged to you. Sir, for your 
good opinion,’ said the buxom landlady, half laughing; ‘and 
if ever I marry again — ’ 

“ ‘ said Tom Smart, looking very shrewdly out at the 
right-hand corner of his left eye. Ip — ' 

“ ‘ Well,’ said the widow, laughing outright this time. 
^When I do, I hope I shall have as good a husband as you 
describe. ’ 

“ ‘ Jiiikins, to wit,’ said Tom. 

“ ‘ Lor, Sir !’ exclaimed the widow. 

“ ‘ Oh, don’t tell me,’ said Tom, ‘ I know him.’ 

“ ‘ I am sure nobody who knows him, knows any thing bad 
of him,’ said the widow, bridling up at the mysterious air with 
which Tom had spoken. 

“ ‘ Hem,’ said Tom Smart. 

“ The widow began to think it was high time to cry, so she 
took out her handkerchief, and inquired whether Tom wished to 
insult her, whether he thought it like a gentleman to take away 
the character of another gentleman behind his back ; why, if ho 
had got any thing to say, he didn’t say it to the man, like a 
man, instead of terrifying a poor weak woman in that way ; 
and so forth. 

“ ‘I’ll say it to him fast enough,’ said Tom, ‘only I want you 
to hear it first.’ 

“ ‘What is it?’ inquired the widow, looking intently in Tom’s 
coiinlenance. 

‘“ ril astonish you,’ said Tom, putting his hand in Ins pocket. 

“ ‘If it is that he wants money,’ said the widow, ‘I know that 
already, and you needn’t trouble yourself.’ 

“‘Pooh, nonsense, that’s nothing,’ said Tom Smart; ‘7 want 
money. ’Taint that.’ 

“ ‘ Oh dear, what can it be ?’ exclaimed the poor widow. 

“‘Don’t be frightened,’ said Tom Smart. He slowly diew 


224 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


forth the letter, and unfolded it. ‘You won^t scream?^ said 
Tom, doubtfully. 

‘“No, no,’ replied the widow; ‘let me see it.’ 

“ ‘You won’t go fainting away, or any of that nonsense V said 
Tom. 

“‘No, no,’ returned the widow, hastily. 

“ ‘And don’t run out, and blow him up,’ said Tom, ‘because 
I’ll do all that for you; you had better not exert yourself.’ 

“ ‘ Well, well,’ said the widow, ‘let me see it.’ 

“ ‘ I will,’ replied Tom Smart ; and with these words, he placed 
the letter in the widow’s hand. 

“Gentlemen, I have heard my uncle say, that Tom Smart said, 
the widow’s lamentations when she heard the disclosure would 
have pierced a heart of stone. Tom was certainly very tender- 
hearted, but they pierced his, to the very core. The widow 
rocked herself to and fro, and wrung her hands. 

“ ‘Oh, the deception and villany of the man I’ said the widow. 

“‘Frightful, my dear Ma’am; but compose yourself,’ said 
Tom Smart. 

“ ‘Oh, I can’t compose myself,’ shrieked the widow. ‘I shall 
never find any one else I can love so much 1’ 

“‘Oh yes, you will, my dear soul,’ said Tom Smart, letting 
fall a shower of the largest-sized tears, in pity for the widow’s 
misfortunes. Tom Smart, in the energy of his compassion, had 
put his arm round the widow’s waist ; and the widow, in a pas- 
sion of grief, had clasped Tom’s hand. She looked up in Tom’s 
face, and smiled through her tears. Tom looked down in hers, 
and smiled through his. 

“I never could find out, gentlemen, whether Tom did or did 
not kiss the widow at that particular moment. He used to tell 
my uncle he didn’t, but I have my doubts about it. Between 
ourselves, gentlemen, I rather think he did. 

“At all events, Tom kicked the very tall man out of the front 
door half an hour after, and married the widow a month after. 
And he used to drive about the country, with the clay-colored 
gig with the red wheels, and the vixenish mare with the fast 
pace, till he gave up business many years afterwards, and wont 
to France with his wife ; and then the old house was pulled 
down.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


2V. 


"Will yon allow me to ask you/’ said the inquisitive old gen- 
tleman, “what became of the chair?” 

“Why,” replied the one-eyed bagman, “It was observed to 
creak very much on the day of the wedding ; but Tom Smart 
couldn’t say for certain, whether it was with pleasure or bodily 
infirmity. He rather thought it was the latter, though, for it 
never spoke afterwards.” 

“Every body believed the story, didn’t they?” said the dirty- 
faced man, refilling his pipe. 

“Except Tom’s enemies,” replied the bagman. “Some of 
’em said Tom invented it altogether ; and others said he was 
drunk, and fancied it, and got hold of the wrong trousers by 
mistake before he went to bed. But nobody ever minded what 
(hey said.” 

“Tom Smart said it was all true?” 

“Every word.” 

“And your uncle?” 

“Every letter.” 

“ They must have been nice men, both of ’em,” said the dirty- 
faced man. 

“Yes, they were,” replied the bagman; “very nice men, 
indeed I” " 

15 


CHAPTER XYI. 


In which is given a faithful portraiture of two distin 

(JUISHED PERSONS ; AND AN ACCURATE DESCRIPTION OF A PUB- 
LIC BREAKFAST IN THEIR HOUSE AND GROUNDS ; AVIIICH PUBLIC 

BREAKFAST LEADS TO THE RECOGNITION OF AN OLD ACQUAINT- 
ANCE AND THE COMMENCEMENT OF ANOTHER CHAPl’ER. 

Mr. Pickwick’s conscience had been somewhat reproaching 
him, for his recent neglect of his friends at the Peacock ; and 
he was just on the point of walking forth in quest of them, on 
the third morning after the election had terminated, when his 
faithful valet put into his hand a card, on which was engraved 
the following inscription. 

iHw. iito ?^,untcr. 

The Den, Eatanswill. ■ ? ... 

“ Person’s a waitin’,” said Sam, epigrammatically. 

“ Does the person want^me, Sam ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ He wants you partickler ; and no one else ’ll do, as the 
Devil’s private secretary said, ven he fetched away Doctor 
Faustus,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“ He. Is it a gentleman ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“A wery good imitation o’ one, if it ain’t,” replied Mr. 
Weller. 

‘‘But this is a lady’s card,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Given me by a gen’lm’n, hows’ever,” replied Sara, “and 
he’s a waitin’ in the drawing-room — said he’d rather wait all 
day, than not see you.” 

Mr. Pickwick, on hearing this determination, descended to 
the drawing-room, where sat a grave man, who started up on 
his entrance, and said, with an air of profound respect 

“ Mr. Pickwick, I presume ?” 

“ The same.” 

“Allow me, Sir, the honor of grasping your hand — permit 
me, Sir, to shake it,” spid the grave man. 

( 226 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


227 


** Certainly,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

The stranger shook the extended hand, and then continncd> 

“ We have heard of your fame. Sir. The noise of your 
antiquarian discussion has reached the ears of Mrs. Leo Iluutei 
. — my wife. Sir : I am Mr. Leo Hunter,” — the stranger paused 
as if he expected that Mr. Pickwick would be overcome l)y the 
disclosure ; but seeing that he remained perfectly calm, pro* 
ceeded. 

“ My wife. Sir — Mrs. Leo Hunter — is proud to number 
among her acquaintance, all those who have rendered them- 
selves celebrated by their works and talents. Permit me. Sir, 
to place in a conspicuous part of the list, the name of Mr. 
Pickwick, and his brother members of the club that derives its 
name from him.” 

“ I shall be extremely happy to make the acquaintance of 
such a lady. Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“You shall make it. Sir,” said the grave man. “ To-morrow 
morning. Sir, we give a public breakfast — a fete champetre — • 
to a great number of those who have rendered themselves cele- 
brated by their works and talents. Permit Mrs. Leo Hunter, 
Sir, to have the gratification of seeing you at the Den.” 

“With great pleasure,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“Mrs. Leo Hunter has many of these breakfasts. Sir,” re- 
sumed the new acquaintance — ^ ‘ Feasts of reason. Sir, and 
flows of soul,’ as somebody who wrote a sonnet to Mrs. Leo 
Hunter on her breakfasts, feelingly and originally observed.” 

“Was he celebrated for his works and talent® ?” inquired 
Mr. Pickwick. 

“He was. Sir,” replied the grave man, “all Mrs. Leo 
Hunter’s acquaintance are ; it is her ambition. Sir, to have no 
other acquaintance.” 

“ It is a very noble ambition,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“AVhen I inform Mrs. Leo Hunter, that that remark fell from 
your lips. Sir, she will indeed be proud,” said the grave man. 
“You have a gentleman in your train, who has produced some 
beautiful little poems, I think. Sir.” 

“ My friend, Mr. Snodgi’ass, has a great taste for poetry,” 
replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“So has Mrs. Leo Hunter, Sir. She dotes on poetry, Sir, 


228 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


She adores it ; I may say that her whole soul and mind are 
wound up and entwined with it. She has produced some 
delightful pieces, herself, Sir. You may have met with her 
^Ode to an expiring frog,’ Sir.” 

“ I don’t think I have,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ You astonish me, Sir,” said Mr. Leo Hunter. “It created 
an immense sensation. It was signed with an ‘L’ and eight 
stars, and appeared originally in a Lady’s Magazine. It com- 
menced ; 

" Can I view thee panting, lying 
On tliy stomach without sighing. 

Can I unmoved see thee dying 
On a log, 

Expiring frog!'* 

“Beautiful 1” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Fine,” said Mr. Leo Hunter, “so simple.” 

“Very,” said Mr. Pick\vick. 

“ The next verse is still more touching. Shall I repeat it ?” 

“If you please,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ It runs thus,” said the grave man, still more gravely. 

^‘Say, have fiends in shape of boys. 

With wild halloo, and brutal noise. 

Hunted thee from marshy joys. 

With a dog. 

Expiring frog!" 

“ Finely expressed,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“All point. Sir, all point,” said Mr. Leo Hunter, “but you 
shall hear Mrs. Leo Hunter repeat it. She can do justice to it, 
Sir. She will repeat it in character, Sir, to-morrow morning.” 

“ In character I” 

“As Minerva. But I forgot — it’s a fancy-dress dejeune.” 

“Dear me,” said Mr. Pickwick, glancing at his own figure — 
“ I can’t possibly” — 

“ Can’t, Sir ; can’t !” exclaimed Mr. Leo Hunter. “ Solomon 
Lucas, the Jew in the High Street, has thousands of fancy 
dresses. Consider, Sir, how many appropriate characters are 
open for your selection. Plato, Zeno, Epicurus, Pythagoras — 
all founders of clubs.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


229 


know that,’’ said Mr. Pickwick, “but as I cannot put 
myself in competition with those great men, I cannot presume 
to wear their dresses.” 

The grave man considered deeply for a few seconds, :nd then 
said, 

“ On reflection, Sir, I don’t know whether it would not afford 
Mrs. Leo Hunter greater pleasure, if her guests saw a gentle- 
man of your celebrity in his own costume, rather than in an 
assumed one. I may venture to promise an exception in your 
case. Sir — yes, I am quite certain that on behalf of Mrs. lico 
Hunter, I may venture to do so.” 

“ In that case,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ I shall have great plea- 
sure in coming.” 

“But I waste your time. Sir,” said the grave man, as if sud- 
denly recollecting himself. “ I know its value. Sir. I will not 
detain you. I may tell Mrs. Leo Hunter, then, that she may 
confidently expect you and your distinguished friends ! Good 
morning. Sir ; I am proud to have beheld so eminent a person- 
age — not a step. Sir, not a word.” And without giving Mr. 
Pickwick time to offer remonstrance or denial, Mr. Leo Hunter 
stalked gravely away. 

Mr. Pickwick took up his hat, and repaired to the Peacock, 
but Mr. Winkle had conveyed the intelligence of the fancy ball 
there before him. 

“Mrs. Pott’s going,” were the first words with which he 
saluted his leader. 

“ Is she ?” said Mr. Pickwiek. 

“ As Apollo,” replied Mr. Winkle. “ Only Pott objects to 
the tunic.” 

“ He is right. He is quite right,” said Mr. Pickwick, em- 
phatically. 

“ Yes ; so she’s going to wear a white satin gown with gold 
spangles.” 

“ They’ll hardly know what she ’s meant for ; will they ?” 
inquired Mr. Snodgrass. 

“ Of course they will,” replied Mr. Winkle, indignantly 
“ They’ll see her lyre, won’t they ?” 

“ True ; I forgot that,” said Mr. Snodgrass. 

“ I shall go as a bandit,” interposed Mr. Tupman. 


280 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ What I” said Mr. Pickwick, with a sudden start 

“ As a bandit,” repeated Mr. Tupinan, mildly. 

“You don’t mean to say,” said Mr. Pickwick, gazing with 
solemn sternness at his friend, “you don’t mean to say, Mr. 
Tnpman, that it is your intention to put yourself into a green 
velvet jacket, with a two-inch tail.” 

“ Such is my intention. Sir,” replied Mr. Tupman, warmly. 
“ And why not, Sir ?” 

“Because, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, considerably excited,—. 
“ Because you are too old. Sir. 

“ Too old ?” exclaimed Mr. Tupman. 

“ And if any further ground of objection be wanting,” con- 
tinued Mr. Pickwick, “you are too fat. Sir.” 

“ Sir,” said Mr. Tupman, his face suffused with a crimson 
glow, “ this is an insult.” 

“ Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick, in the same tone, “it is not 
half the insult to you that your appearance in my presence in a 
green velvet jacket, with a two-inch tail, would be to me.” 

“Sir,” said Mr. Tupman, “you’re a fellow.” 

“ Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ you’re another I” 

Mr. Tupman advanced a step or two, and glared at Mr. 
Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick returned the glare, concentrated into 
a focus by means of his spectacles, and breathed a bold defiance. 
Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle looked on, petrified at behold- 
ing such a scene between two such men. 

“Sir,” said Mr. Tupman, after a short pause, speaking in a 
low, deep voice, “you have called me old.” 

“ I have,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ And fat.” 

“ I reiterate the charge ” 

“ And a fellow.” 

“ So you are !” 

There was a fearful pause. 

“ My attachment to your person. Sir,” said Mr. Tupman, 
speaking in a voice tremulous with emotion, and tucking up his 
wristbands meanwhile, “is great — very great — but upon that 
person I must take summary vengeance.” 

“ Come on, Sir>” replied Mr. Pickwick. Stimulated by the 
exciting nature of the dialogue, the heroic man actually threw 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


231 


himselt into a pugilistic attitude, confidently supposed by the 
two bystanders to have been intw ded as a posture of defence. 

“What!” exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass, suddenly recovering the 
power of speech, of v hich intense astonishment had previously 
bereft him, and rushing between the two, at the imminent 
hazard of receiving an application on the temple from each. 
“ What ! Mr. Pickwick, with the eyes of the world upon you I 
Mr. Tupman 1 who, in common with us all, derives a lustre 
from his undying name ! For shame, gentlemen ; for shame !” 

The unwonted lines which momentary passion had ruled in 
Mr. Pickwick’s clear and open brow, gradually melted away, as 
his young Triend spoke, like the marks of a black-lead pencil 
beneath the softening influence of India rubber. His counte- 
nance had resumed its usual benign expression ere he con- 
cluded. 

“I have been hasty,” said Mr. Pickwick, “very hasty. Tup- 
man ; your hand.” 

The dark shadow passed from Mr. Tupman’s face, as he 
warmly grasped the hand of his friend. 

“ I have been hasty, too,” said he. 

“No, no,” interrupted Mr. Pickwick, “the fault was mine. 
You will wear the green velvet jacket ?” 

“No, no,” replied Mr. Tupman. 

“ To oblige me, you will,” resumed Mr. Pickwick. 

“Well, well, I will,” said Mr. Tupman. 

It was accordingly settled that Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, 
and Mr. Snodgrass, should all wear fancy dresses. Thus Mr. 
Pickwick was led by the very warmth of his own good feelings to 
give his consent to a proceeding from which his better judgment 
would have recoiled — a more striking illustration of his amiable 
character could hardly have been conceived, even if the events 
recorded in these pages had been wholly imaginary. 

Mr. Leo Hunter had not exaggerated the resources of Mr. 
Solomon Lucas. His wardrobe was extensive — very extensive 
—not strictly classical, perhaps, nor quite new, nor did it con- 
tain any one garment made precisely after the fashion of any 
age or time, but every thing was more or less spangled ; and 
what can be prettier than spangles ? It may be objected that 
thev are not adapted to the. day-light, but everybody knows 


232 


THE PICKWICK PAPETIS. 


that they would glitter if there were lamps ; and nothing can 
be clearer than taat if peo})le give fancy balls in the daytime, 
and the dresses do not show quite as well as they would by 
night, the fault lies solely with the people who give the fancy 
balls, and is in no wise chargeable on the spangles. Such was 
the convincing reasoning of Mr. Solomon Lucas; and influenced 
by such arguments did Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. 
Snodgrass, engage to array themselves in costumes which his 
taste and experience induced him to recommend as admirably 
suited to the occasion. 

A carriage was hired from the Town Arms, for the accommo- 
dation of the Pickwickians, and a chariot was ordered from the 
same repository, for the purpose of conveying Mr. and Mrs. 
Pott to Mrs. Leo Hunter’s grounds, which Mr. Pott as a deli- 
cate acknowledgment of having received an invitation, had 
already confidently predicted in the Eatanswill Gazette “ would 
present a scene of varied and delicious enchantment — a bewil- 
dering coruscation of beauty and talent — a lavish and prodigal 
display of hospitality — above all, a degree of splendor softened 
by the most exquisite taste ; and adornment refined with per- 
fect harmony and the chastest good keeping — compared with 
which, the fabled gorgeousness of eastern fairy -land itself, 
would appear to be clothed in as many dark and murky colors, 
as must be the mind of the splenetic and unmanly being who 
could presume to taint with the venom of his envy, the prepara- 
tions making by the virtuous and highly distinguished lady, at 
whose shrine this humble tribute of admiration was offered.’’ 
This last was a piece of biting sarcasm against the Independent, 
who, in consequence of not having been invited at all, had been 
through four numbers affecting to sneer at the whole affair, in 
his very largest type, with all the adjectives in capital letters. 

The morning came ; it was a pleasant sight to behold Mr. 
Tupman in full brigand’s costume, with a very tight jacket, 
fitting like a pincushion over his back and shoulders : the upper 
portion of his legs encased in the velvet shorts, and the lower 
part thereof swathed in the complicated bandages to which all 
brigands are peculiarly attached. It was pleasing to see his 
open and ingenuous countenance, well moustachioed and corked, 
looking out from an open shirt-collar ; and to contemplate the 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


233 


sugar-loaf hat, decorated with ribands of all colors, which he 
was compelled to carry on his knee, inasmuch as no known con- 
veyance with a top to it, would admit of any man’s carrying it 
between his head and the roof. Equally humorous and agree- 
able, was the appearance of Mr. Snodgrass in blue satin trunks 
and cloak, white silk tights and shoes, and Grecian helmet, 
which every body knows (and if they do not, Mr. Solomon 
Lucas did), to have been the regular authentic, every-day 
costume of a troubadour, from the earliest ages down to the 
time of their final disappearance from the face of the earth. All 
this was pleasant, but this was as nothing compared with the 
shouting of the populace when the carriage drew up, behind 
Mr. Pott’s chariot, which chariot itself drew up at Mr. Pott’.s 
door, which door itself opened, and displayed the great Pott 
accoutred as a Russian officer of justice, with a tremendous 
knout in his hand — ^tastefully typical of the stern and mighty 
power of the Eatanswill Gazette, and the fearful lashings it be 
stowed on public offenders. 

“Bravo I” shouted Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass from the 
passage, when they beheld the walking allegory. 

“Bravo I” Mr. Pickwick was heard to exclaim, from the pas- 
sage. 

“ Hoo — roar Pott,” shouted the populace. Amid these salu- 
tions, Mr. Pott, smiling with that kind of bland dignity which 
sufficiently testified that he felt his power, and knew how to exert 
it, got into the chariot. 

Then there emerged from the house, Mrs. Pott, who would 
have looked very like Apollo if she hadn’t had a gown on ; con- 
ducted by Mr. Winkle, who in his light red coat, could not pos- 
sibly have been mistaken for any thing but a sportsman, if he 
had not borne an equal resemblance to a general postman. Last 
of all came Mr. Pickwick, whom the boys applauded as loudly 
as anybody, probably under the impression that his tights and 
gaiters were some remnants of the dark ages ; and then the two 
vehicles proceeded towards Mrs. Leo Hunter’s, Mr. Weller 
(who was to assist in waiting) being stationed on the box of that 
in which his master was seated. 

Every one of the men, women, boys, girls, and babies, who 
were assembled to see the visitors in their fancy dresses, screamed 


234 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


with delight and ecstasy, when Mr. Pickwick, with the brigand 
on one arm, and the troubadour on the other, walked solemnly 
up the entraice. Never were such shouts heard, as those which 
greeted Mr. Tupman’s efiforts to fix the sugar-loaf hat on his 
head, by way of entering the garden in style. 

The preparations were on the most delightful scale ; fully 
realizing the prophetic Pott’s anticipations about the gorgeous- 
ness of eastern fairy -land, and at once affording a sufficient con- 
tradiction to the malignant statements of the reptile Independent. 
The grounds were more than an acre and a quarter in extent, 
and they were filled with people I Never was such a blaze of 
beauty, and fashion, and literature. There was the young lady 
who “did” the poetry in the Eatanswill Gazette, in the garb of 
a sultana, leaning upon the arm of the young gentleman who 
“did” the review department, and who was appropriately habited 
in a field marshal’s uniform — the boots excepted. There were 
hosts of these geniuses, and any reasonable person would have 
thought it honor enough to meet them. But more than these, 
there were half a dozen lions from London — authors, real au- 
thors, who had written whole books, and printed them afterwards 
— and here you might see ’em, walking about, like ordinary men, 
smiling and talking — ay, and talking pretty considerable non- 
sense too, no doubt with the benign intention of rendering them- 
selves intelligible to the common people about them. Moreover, 
there was a band of music in pasteboard caps ; four something- 
ean singers in the costume of their country, and a dozen hired 
waiters in the costume of their country — and very dirty costume 
too. And above all, there was Mrs. Leo Hunter in the charac- 
ter of Minerva, receiving the company, and overflowing with 
pride and gratification at the notion of having called such dis- 
tinguished individuals together. 

“Mr. Pickwick, Ma’am,” said a servant, as that gentleman 
approached the presiding goddess, with his hat in his hand, and 
the Brigand and Troubadour on either arm. 

“What — where I” exclaimed Mrs. Leo Hunter, starting up, 
in an affected rapture of surprise. 

“ Here,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Is it possible that I have really the gratification of behold* 
ing Mr. Pickwick himself,” ejaculated Mrs. Leo Hunter. 



MRS. LEO hunter’s FANCY-DRESS dejei)n£. — Page 235 









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THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


235 


“No other, Ma^am,” replied Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low. 
“Permit me to introduce my friends — Mr. Tupman — Mr. 
Winkle — Mr. SnodgT^ss---to the authoress of ‘ The Expiring 
Frog.’ ” 

Very few people but those who have tried it, know what a 
difficult process it is, to bow in green velvet smalls, and a tight 
jacket and high-crowned hat; or in blue satin trunks and white 
silks, or knee-cords and top-boots that were never made for the 
wearer, and have been fixed upon him without the remotest re- 
ference to the comparative dimensions of himself and the suit. 
Never were such distortions as Mr. Tupman’s frame underwent 
in his efforts to appear easy and graceful — never was such in- 
genious posturing, as his fancy-dressed friends exhibited. 

“Mr. Pickwick,” said Mrs. Leo Hunter, “I must make you 
promise not to stir from my side the whole day. There are huii 
dreds of people here, that I must positively introduce you to.” 

“You are very kind. Ma’am,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“In the first place, here are ray little girls; I had almost for- 
gotten them,” said Minerva, carelessly pointing towards a couple 
of full-grown young ladies, of whom one might be about twenty, 
and the other a year or two older, and who were dressed in 
very juvenile costumes — whether to make them look young, or 
their mamma younger, Mr. Pickwick does not distinctly in- 
form us. 

“ They are very beautiful,” said Mr. Pickwick, as the juveniles 
turned away, after being presented. 

“ They are very like their mamma. Sir,” said Mr. Pott, 
majestically. 

“ Oh I you naughty man,” exclaimed Mrs. Leo Hunter, play- 
fully tapping the editor’s arm with her fan (Minerva with a fan I) 

‘ Why now, my dear Mrs. Hunter, ’’-said Mr. Pott, who was 
trumi)eter in ordinary at the Den, “ you know that when your 
picture was in the Exhibition of the Koyal Academy, last year, 
every body inquired whether it was intended for you, or your 
youngest daughter ; for you were so much alike that there was 
no telling the difference between you.” 

“ Well, and ii they did, why need you repeat it, before 
strang(!rs ?” said Mrs. Leo Hunter, bestowing another tap ou 
the slumbering lion of the Eatanswill Gazette. 


286 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“Count, Count,' screamed Mrs. Leo Hunter to a wd'- 
whiskered individual in a foreign uniform, who was passing by. 

“ Ah ! you want me said the Count, turning back. 

“ I want to introduce two very clever people to eacli other,” 
said Mrs. Leo Hunter. “ Mr. Pickwick, I have great pleasure 
in introducing you to Count Smorltork.” She added in a hur- 
ried whisper to Mr. Pickwick — “the famous foreigner — gather- 
ing materials for his great work on England — hem ! — Count 
Smorltork, Mr. Pickwick.” 

Mr. Pickwick saluted the Count with all the reverence due 
to so great a man, and the Count drew forth a set of tablets, 

“What you say, Mrs. Hunt?” inquired the Count, smiling 
graciously on the gratified Mrs. Leo Hunter, “ Pig Vig or Pig 
Yig — what you call — Lawyer — eh ? I see — that is it. l>ig 
"Vig” — and the Count was proceeding to enter Mr. Pickwick 
in his tablets, as a gentleman of the long-robe, who derived Ids 
name from the profession to which he belonged, when Mrs. Leo 
Hunter interposed. 

“ No, no. Count,” said the lady, “ Pick-wick.” 

“ Ah, ah, I see,” replied the Count. “ Peek — Christian 
name; Weeks — surname ; good, ver good. Peek Weeks. How 
you do. Weeks ?” 

“ Quite well, I thank you,” replied Mr. Pickwick, with all 
his usual affability. “ Have you been long in England ?” 

“ Long — ver long time — fortnight — more ” 

“ Do you stay here long ?” 

“ One week.” 

“ You will have enough to do,” said Mr. Pickwick, smiling, 
“ to gather all the materials you want, in that time.” 

“ Eh, they are gathered,” said the Count. 

“ Indeed 1” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ They are here,” added the Count, tapping his forehead 
significantly. “ Large book at home — ^full of notes — music, 
picture, science, potry, poltic ; all tings.” 

“ The word politics. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ comprises, 
in itself, a difficult study of no inconsiderable magnitude.” 

“ Ah !” said the Count, drawing ont the tablets again, “ vei 
good — fine words to begin a chapter. Chapter forty-seven. 
Poltics. The word poltics surprises by himself — ” And down 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


23T 


went Mr. Pickwick’s remark, in Count Smorltork’s tablets, 
with such variations and additions as the Count’s exuberant 
fancy suggested, or his imperfect knowledge of the language 
occasioned. 

“ Count,” said Mrs. Leo Hunter. 

‘ Mrs. Hunt,” replied the Count. 

“ This is Mr. Snodgrass, a friend of Mr. Pickwick’s, and a 
poet.” 

“ Stop,” exclaimed the Count, bringing out the tablets once 
more. “ Head, potry — chapter, literary friends — name. Snow- 
grass ; ver good. Introduced to Snowgrass — great poet, friend 
of Peek Weeks — by Mrs. Hunt, which wrote other sweet poem — 
what is that name ? — Frog — Perspiring Frog — ver good — ver 
good indeed.” And the Count put up his tablets, and with 
sundry bows and acknowledgments walked away, thoroughly 
satisfied that he had made the most important and valuable 
additions to his stock of information. 

Wonderful man. Count Sraorltork,” said Mrs. Leo Hunter. 

“ Sound philosopher,” said Pott. 

" Clear-headed, strong-minded person,” added Mr. Snod- 
grass. 

A chorus of by-standers took up the shout of Count Smorl- 
tork’s praise, shook their heads sagely, and unanimously cried 
“ Very I” 

As the enthusiasm in Count Smorltork’s favor ran very high, 
his praises might have been sung until the end of the festivities, 
if the four something-ean singers had not arranged themselves 
in front of a small apple-tree, to look picturesque, and com- 
menced singing their national songs, which appeared by no 
means difficult of execution, inasmuch as the grand secret seemed 
to be, that three of the something-ean singers should grunt, 
while the fourth howled. This interesting performance having 
concluded amidst the loud plaudits of the whole company, a 
boy forthwith proceeded to entangle himself with the rails of a 
chair, and to jump over it, and crawl under it, and fall down 
with it, and do every thing but sit upon it, and then to make a 
eravat of his legs, and tie them round his neck, aifd then to 
Illustrate the ease with \\hich a human being can be made 
to look like a magnified toad — all which feats yielded high 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


delight and satisfaction to the assembled spectators. After 
which, the voice of Mrs. Pott was heard to cliirp faintly forth, 
something which courtesy interpreted into a song, which was all 
very classical, and strictly in character, because Apollo was 
himself a coraopsor, and composers can very seldom sing their 
own music or any body’s else either. This was succeeded by 
Mrs. Leo Hunter’s recitation of her far-famed ode to an 
Expiring Frog, which was encored once, and would have been 
encored twice, if the major part of the guests, who thought it 
was high time to get something to eat, had not said that it was 
perfectly shameful to take advantage of Mrs. Hunter’s good- 
nature. So although Mrs. Leo Hunter professed her perfect 
willingness to recite the ode again, her kind and considerate 
friends wouldn’t hear of it on any account ; and the refreshment- 
room being thrown open, all the people who had ever been 
there before, scrambled in with all possible despatch : Mrs. 
Leo Hunter’s usual course of proceeding, being, to issue cards 
for a hundred, and breakfast for fifty, or in other words to feed 
only the very particular lions, and let the smaller animals take 
care of themselves. 

“Where is Mr. Pott?” said Mrs. Leo Hunter, as she placed 
the aforesaid lions around her. 

“Here I am,” said the editor, from the very furthest end of 
the room ; far beyond all hope of food, unless something was 
done for him by the hostess. 

“Won’t you come up here ?” 

“Oh, pray dmi’t mind him,” said Mrs. Pott, in the most 
obliging voice — “you give yourself a great deal of unnecessary 
trouble, Mrs. Hunter. You’ll do very well there, won’t you — - 
dear ?” 

“ Certainly — love,” replied the unhappy Pott, with a grim 
smile. Alas, for the knout I The nervous arm that Arielded it 
with such gigantic force upon public characters, was paralysed 
beneath the glance of the imperious Mrs. Pott. 

Mrs. Leo Hunter looked round her, in triumph. Count 
Smorltork was busily engaged in taking notes of tlie contents 
of the dishes ; Mr. Tupman was doing the honors of the lobster 
salad to s weral lionesses, with a degree of grace which no bri- 
gand ever exhibited before ; Mr. Snodgrass, having cut out the 
youncr s^entleman who cut up the books for the Eatanswill Ga- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


289 


zette, was engaged in an impassioned argument with the young 
lady who did tlie poetry ; and Mr. Pickwick was making him- 
self universally agreeable. Nothing seemed wanting to render 
the select circle complete, when Mr. Leo Hunter — whose de- 
partment on these occasions, was to stand about in door-ways, 
and talk to the less important people — suddenly called out — 

“ My dear; here’s Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall.” 

“Oh, dear,” said Mrs Leo Hunter, “how anxiously I have 
been expecting him. Pray make room to let Mr. Fitz-Mar- 
shall pass. Tell Mr. Fitz-Marshall, my dear, to come up to 
me directly, to be scolded for coming so late.” 

“ Coming, my dear Ma’am,” cried a voice, “ as quick as I 
can — crowds of people — full room — hard work — very.” 

Mr. Pickwick’s knife and fork fell from his hand. He stared 
across the table at Mr. Tupman, who had dropped his knife 
and fork, and was looking as if he were about to sink into the 
ground without further notice. 

“ Ah !” cried the voice, as its owner pushed his way among 
the last five-and-twenty Turks, officers, cavaliers, and Charles 
the Seconds, that remained between him and the table, “ regular 
mangle — Baker’s patent — not a crease in my coat, after all this 
squeezing — might have ‘ got up’ my linen, as I came along — ha 1 
ha ! not a bad idea, that, — queer thing to have it mangled when 
it’s upon one, though — trying process — very.” 

With these broken words a young man dressed as a naval 
officer made his way up to the' table, and presented to the 
astonished Pickwickians, the identical form and features of Mr. 
Alfred Jingle. 

The offender had barely time to take Mrs. Leo Hunter’s 
proffered hand, when his eyes encountered the indignant orbs of 
Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Hallo 1” said Jingle. “ Quite forgot — no directions to 
postillion — give ’em at once — back in a minute.” 

“The servant, or Mr. Hunter, will do it in a moment, Mr. 
Fitz-Marshall,” said Mrs. Leo Hunter. 

“No, no, — I’ll do it — sha’n’t be long — back in no time,” replied 
Jingle With these words he disappeared amon^ the crowd. 

“Will you allow me to ask you. Ma’am,” said the excited 
Mr. Pickwick, rising from his seat, “ who that young man is, 
and where he resides ?” 


240 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ He is a g:entleman of fortune, Mr. Pickwick,” said Mrs. Leo 
Hunter, “ to whom I very ouch want to introduce you. The 
Count will be delighted with him.” 

Yes, yes,” said Mr. Pickwick, hastily. “ His residence — ” 

“Is at present at the Angel, at Bury.” 

“ At Bury ?” 

“At Bury St. Edmonds, not many miles from here. But 
dear me, Mr. Pickwick, you are not going to leave us ; surely, 
Mr. Pickwick, you cannot think of going so soon.” 

But long before Mrs. Leo Hunter had finished speaking, Mr. 
Pickwick had plunged through the throng, and reached the 
garden, whither he was shortly afterwards joined by Mr. Tup- 
man, who had followed his friend closely. 

“It’s of no use,” said Mr. Tupman. “ He’s gone.” 

“ I know it,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ and I will follow him.” 

“ Follow him ? Where ?” inquired Mr. Tupman. 

“ To the Angel, at Bury,” replied Mr. Pickwick, speaking 
very quickly. “ How do we know whom he is deceiving there ? 
He deceived a worthy man once, and we were the innocent cause. 
He shall not do it again, if I can help it; I’ll expose him. 
Sam! Where’s my servant?” 

“ Here you are, Sir,” said Mr. Weller, emerging from a se- 
questered spot, where he had been engaged in discussing a 
bottle of Madeira, which he had extracted from the break- 
fast-table, an hour or two before. “ Here’s your servant, Sir. 
Proud o’ the title, as the Living Skellinton said, ven they 
show’d him.” 

“ Follow me, instantly,” said Mr. Pickwick. “ Tupman, if I 
stay at Bury, you can join me there, when I write. Till then, 
good-by.” 

Remonstrances were useless. Mr. Pickwick was roused, and 
his mind was made up. Mr. Tupman returned to his com- 
panions ; and in another hour had drowned all present recollec 
tion of Mr. Alfred Jingle, or Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall, in an 
exhilarating quadrille and a bottle of champagne. By that 
time, Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller, perched on the outside of 
a stage-coach, were every succeeding minute placing a less and 
less distance between themselves and the good old town of 
Bury St. Edmunds. 


CHAPTER XYII. 


TOO FULL OF ADVENTURE TO BE BRIEFLY DESCRIBED. 

There is no month in the whole year, in wliich nature wears 
a more beautiful appearance than in the montli of August. 
Spring has many beauties, and May is afresh and blooming 
month, but the charms of this time of year are enhanced by 
their contrast with the winter season. August has no such ad- 
vantage. It comes when we remember nothing but clear skies, 
green fields, and sweet-smelling flowers — when the recollection 
of snow and ice, and bleak winds, has faded from our minds as 
completely as they have disappeared from the earth — and yet 
what a pleasant time it is I Orchards and corn-fields ring with 
the hum of labor; trees bend beneath the thick clusters of rich 
fruit which bow their branches to the ground, and the corn, 
piled in graceful sheaves, or waving in every light breath that 
sweeps above it, as if it wooed the sickle, tinges the landscape 
with a golden hue. A mellow softness appears to hang over 
the whole earth ; the influence of the season seems to exteJid 
itself to the very wagon, whose slow motion across the well- 
reaped field, is perceptible only to the eye, but strikes with no 
harsh sound apon the ear. 

As the coach rolls swiftly past the fields and orchards which 
okirt the road, groups of women and children, piling the fruit 
in sieves, or gathering the scattered ears of corn, pause for 
an instant from their labor, and shading the sun-burnt face 
with a still browner hand, gaze upon the passengers with curi- 
ous eyes, while some stout urchin, too small to work, but too 
mischievous to be left at home, .scrambles over the side of the 
basket in which he has been deposited for security, and kicks 
and screams with delight. The reaper stops in his work, and 
stands with folded arms looking at the vehicle as it whirls past; 
and the rough cart-horses bestow a sleepy glance upon the 
smart coach team, which says, as plainly as a horse’s glance can, 
16 ( 241 ) 


242 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


all very fine to look at, but slow going over a heavy field, 
is better than warm work like that, upon a dusty road, after 
all.’’ You cast a look behind you, as you turn a corner of the 
road. The women and cliildren have resumed their labor, the 
reaper once more stoops to his work, the cart-horses have moved 
on, and all are again in motion. 

The influence of a scene like this, was not lost upon the well- 
regulated mind of Mr. Pickwick. Intent npon the resolution 
he had formed, of exposing the real character of the nefarious 
Jingle, in any quarter in which he might be pursuing his 
fraudulent designs, he sat at first taciturn and contemplative, 
brooding over the means by which his purpose could be best 
attained. By degrees h*s attention grew more and more at- 
tracted by the objects around him ; and at last he derived as 
much enjoyment from the ride, as if it had been undertaken for 
the pleasantest reason in the world. 

“ Delightful prospect, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Beats the chimbley pots. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller touching 
his hat. 

“ I suppose you have hardly seen any thing but chimney-pots 
and bricks and mortar, all your life, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
smiling. 

“I worn’t always a boots. Sir,” said Mr. Weller, with a 
shake of the head. “ I was a vaginer’s boy, once.” 

“ When was that ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ When I vas first pitched neck and crop into the world, to 
play at leap-frog with its troubles,” replied Sam. “I vas a 
carrier’s boy at startin’ : then a vaginer’s, then a helper, then a 
boots. Now I’m a gen’l’m’n’s servant. I shall be a gen’l’m’n 
myself one of these days, perhaps, with a pipe in my mouth, 
and a summer-house in the back garden. Who knows ? I 
shouldn’t be surprised, for one.” 

“You are quite a philosopher, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick 

“It runs in the family, I b’lieve. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

‘ My father’s wory much in that line, now. If my mother-iii- 
law blows him up, he whistles. She flies in a passion, and breaks 
his pipe; he steps out and gets another. Then she screams 
wery loud, and falls inta ’sterics; and he smokes wery com- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


24a 


fortably till she comes to agin. That’s philosophy, Sir, ain’t 
it ?” 

“A very good substitute for it, at all events,” replied Mr. 
Pickwick, laughing. “ It must have been of great service to 
you, in the course of your rambling life, Sam.” 

“Service, Sir,” exclaimed Sam. “You may say that. Arter 
I run away from the carrier, and afore I took up with the 
vaginer, I had unfurnished lodgins for a fortnight.” 

“ Unfurnished lodgings 1” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Yes — the dry arches of Waterloo Bridge. Fine sleeping- 
place — vithin ten minutes’ walk of all the public offices — only if 
there is any objection to it, it is that the sitivation’s raylher too 
airy. I see some queer sights there.” 

“Ah, I suppose you did,” said Mr. Pickwick, with an air of 
considerable interest. 

“Sights, Sir,” resumed Mr. Weller, “as ’ud penetrate your 
benevolent lieart, and come out on the other side. You don’t 
see the reg’lar wagrants there : trust ’em, they knows better than 
that. Young beggars, male and female, as hasn’t made a rise 
in their profession, takes up their quarters there sometimes ; but 
it’s generally the worn-out, starving, houseless creeturs as rolls 
themselves up in the dark corners o’ them lonesome places — 
poor creeturs as ain’t up to the twopenny rope.” 

“ And pray, Sam, what is the twopenny rope ?” inquired Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“The twopenny rope, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller, “is just a 
cheap lodgin’-house, were the beds is twopence a night.” 

“ What. do they call a bed a rope for ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Bless your innocence. Sir, that ain’t it,” replied Sam. “Yen 
the lady and gen’l’m’n as keeps the Hot-el, first begun business, 
they used to make the beds on the floor ; but this wouldn’t do 
at no price, ’cos, instead o’ taking a moderate twopenn’orth o’ 
sleep, the lodgers used to lie there half the day. So now they 
has two ropes, ’bout six foot apart, and three from the floor, 
which goes right down the room ; and the beds are made of 
slips of coarse sacking, stretched across ’em.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“AVell,” said Mr. Weller, “the adwantage of the plan’s 
hobvious. At six o’clock ev’ry mornin’, they lets go the rope? 


244 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


at one end, and down falls all the lodgers. Consequence is, that 
being thoroughly waked, they get up wery quietly, and walk 
away I — Beg your pardon. Sir,” said Sam, suddenly breaking 
oflf in his loquacious discourse. “Is this Bury Saint Ed- 
munds 

“ It is,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

The coach rattled through the well-paved streets of a hand- 
some little town, of thriving and cleanly appearance, and 
stopped before a large inn situated in a wide open street, 
nearly facing the old Abbey. 

“ And this,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking up, “ is the Angel. 
We alight here, Sam. But some caution is necessary. Older 
a private room, and do not mention my name. You under- 
stand.” 

“ Right as a trivet, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller, with a wink of 
intelligence ; and having dragged Mr. Pickwick’s portmanteau 
from the hind boot, into which it had been hastily thrown when 
they joined the coach at Eatanswill, Mr. Weller disappeared on 
his errand. A private room was speedily engaged ; and into it 
Mr. Pickwick was ushered without delay. 

“ Now, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ the first thing to be done 
is to” — 

“ Order dinner. Sir,” interposed Mr. Weller. “ It’s wery 
late. Sir.” 

“Ah, so it is,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking at his watch. 
“You are right, Sam.” 

“ And if I might adwise. Sir,” added Mr. Weller, “ I’d just 
have a good night’s rest arterwards, and not begin inquiring 
arter this here deep ’un till the mornin’. There’s nothin’ so re- 
freshin’ as sleep. Sir, as the servant-girl said afore she drank the 
egg-cup full o’ laudanum.” 

“ I think you are right, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. “ But I 
must first ascertain that he is in the house, and not likely to go 
away.” 

“l^eave that to me. Sir,” said Sam. “Let me order you a 
inug little dinner, and make my inquiries below while it’s a get* 
ting ready ; I could worm every secret out o’ the boots’s heart, 
In five minutes.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


246 


“Do so,” said Mr. Pickwick; and Mr. Weller at once re- 
tired. 

In half an hour, Mr. Pickwick was seated at a very satisfac- 
tory dinner, and in three-quarters Mr. Weller returned with the 
intelligence that Mr. Charles Fitz- Marshall had ordered his 
private room to be retained for him, until further notice. lie 
was going to spend the evening at some private house in the 
neighborhood, had ordered the boots to sit up until his return, 
and had taken his servant with him. 

“Now, Sir,” argued Mr. Weller, when he had concluded his 
report, “ if I can get a talk with this here servant in the morn- 
in’, he’ll tell me all his master’s concerns.” 

“ How do you know that ?” interposed Mr. Pickwick. 

“Bless your heart. Sir, servants always do,” replied Mr. 
Weller. 

“Oh, ah, I forgot that,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Well.” 

“ Then you can arrange what’s best to be done. Sir, and we 
can act accordingly.” 

As it appeared that this was the best arrangement that could 
be made, it was finally agreed upon. Mr. Weller, by his mas- 
ter’s permission, retired to spend the evening in his own way ; 
and was shortly afterwards elected, by the unanimous voice of 
the assembled company, into the tap-room chair, in which hon- 
orable post he acquitted himself so much to the satisfaction of 
the gentlemen-frequenters, that their roars of laughter and appro- 
bation penetrated to Mr. Pickwick’s bedroom, and shortened 
the term of his natural rest, by at least three hours. 

Early on the ensuing morning, Mr. Weller was dispelling all 
the feverish remains of the previous evening’s conviviality, through 
the instrumentality of a half-penny shower-bath, (having induced 
a young gentleman attached to the stable-department, by the 
offer of that coin, to pump over his head and face, until he was 
p( rfectly restored,) when he was attracted by the appearance of 
a young fellow in mulberry-colored livery, who was sitting on a 
bench in the yard, reading what appeared to be a hymu-])Ook. 
with an air of deep abstraction, but who occasionally stole a 
glance at the individual under the pump, as if he took some in- 
terest in his proceedings, nevertheless. 

“You’re a rum ’un to look at, you are,” thought Mr. Wellor 


246 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


the first time his eyes encountered the glance of the stranger in 
the mulberry-colored suit, who had a large, sallow, ugly face ; 
very sunken eyes, and a gigantic head, from which depended a 
quantity of lank black hair. “ You’re a rum ’un,” thought Mr. 
Weller; and thinking this, he went on washing himself, and 
thought no more about him. 

Still the man kept glancing from his hymn-book to Sam, and 
from Sam to his hymn-book, as if he wanted to open a conversa- 
tion. So at last, Sam, by way of giving him an opportunity, 
said, with a familiar nod- 

“ How are you, governor ?” 

“I am happy to say, I am pretty well. Sir,” said the man, 
speaking with great deliberation, and closing the book. “I 
hope you are the same, Sir ?” 

“Why, if I felt less like a walking brandy-bottle, I shouldn’t 
be quite so staggery this mornin’,” replied Sam. “Are you 
stoppin’ in this house, old ’un !” 

The mulberry man replied in the affirmative. 

“ How was it, you woni’t one of us, last night ?” inquired 
Sam, scrubbing his face with the towel. “ You seem one of the 
jolly sort — looks as conwivial as a live trout in a lime-basket,” 
added Mr. Weller, in an under tone. 

“ I was out last l ight, with my master,” replied the stranger. 

“ W” hat’s his name?” inquired Mr. Weller, coloring up very 
red with sudden excitement, and the friction of the towel com- 
bined. 

“ Fitz-Marshall,” said the mulberry man. 

“Give us your hand,” said Mr. Weller, advancing; “I 
should like to know you. I like your appearance, old fellow.” 

“ Well, that is very strange,” said the mulberry man, with 
great simplicity of manner. “I like yours so much, that I 
wanted to speak to you, from the very first moment I saw you 
under the pump.” 

“Did you, though ?” 

“Upon my word. Now isn’t that curious ?” 

“ Wery singular,” said Sam, inwardly congratulating himself 
upon the softness of the stranger, “ What’s your name, my 
patriarch ?” 

«Job.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


247 


And a wery good name it is ; only one I know, that ain’t 
got a nickname to it. What’s the other name 

“ Trotter,” said the stranger. “ What’s yours ?” 

Sam bore in mind his master’s caution, and replied. 

“My name’s Walker; my master’s name’s Wilkins. Will 
you take a drop of somethin’ this mornin’, Mr. Trotter ?” 

Mr. Trotter acquiesced in this agreeable proposal ; and having 
deposited his book in his coat-pocket, accompanied Mr. Weller to 
the tap, where they were soon occupied in discussing an exhilara- 
ting compound, formed by mixing together, in a pewter vessel, 
certain quantities of British Hollands, and the fragrant essence 
df the clove. 

“ And what sort of a place have you got ?” inquired Sam, as 
he filled his companion’s glass, for the second time. 

“Bad,” said Job, smacking his lips, “ very bad.” 

“ You don’t mean that,” said Sam. 

“ I do, indeed. Worse than that, my master’s going, to bo 
married.” 

“ No.” 

“Yes ; and worse than that too, he’s going to run away with 
an immense rich heiress, from boarding-school.” 

“What a dragon,” said Sam refilling his companion’s glass. 
“ It’s some boarding-school in this town, I suppose, ain’t it ?” 

Now, although this question was put in the most careless 
tone imaginable, Mr. Job Trotter plainly showed, by gestures, 
that he perceived his new friend’s anxiety to draw forth an 
answer to it. He emptied his glass, looked mysteriously at his 
companion, winked both of his small eyes, one after the other, 
and finally made a motion with his arm, as if he were working 
an imaginary pump-handle : thereby intimating that he (Mr. 
Trotter) considered himself as undergoing the process of being 
pumped, by Mr. Samuel Weller. 

“No, no,” said Mr. Trotter, in conclusion, “that’s not to be 
told to every body. That is a secret — a great secret, Mr. 
Walker.” 

As the mulberry-man said this, he turned his glass upside 
flown, by way of reminding his companion that he had nothing 
left wherewith to slake his thirst. Sam observed the hint; and 
feeling the delicate manner in which it was conveyed, ordered 


248 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


the pewt er vessel to be refilled, whereat the small eyes of the mul- 
berry-man glistened. 

“ And so it’s a secret,” said Sam. 

I should rather suspect it was,” said the mulberry-man, sip- 
ping his liquor, with a complacent face. 

“ 1 suppose your mas’r’s very rich ?” said Sam. 

Mr. Trotter smiled, and holding his glass in his left hand, 
gave four distinct slaps on the pocket of his mulberry indescri- 
bables with his right, as if to intimate that his master migh'^ 
have done the same without alarming any body much by the 
thinking of coin. 

“Ah,” said Sam, “that’s the game is it?” 

The mulberry-man nodded significantly. 

“Well, and don’t you think, old feller,” remonstrated Mr. 
Weller, “that if you let your master take in this here young 
lady, you’re a precious rascal ?” 

“I know that,” said Job Trotter, turning upon his com- 
panion a countenance of deep contrition, and groaning slightly. 
“ I know that, and that’s what it is that preys upon my mind. 
But what am I to do ?” 

“ Do I” said Sam ; “ di-wulge to the missis and give up your 
master.” 

“ Who’d believe me?” replied Job Trotter. “The young 
lady is considered the very picture of innocence and discretion. 
She’d deny it, and so would my master. Who’d believe me ? 
I should lose my place, and get indicted for a conspiracy, or 
some such thing ; that’s all I should take by my motion.” 

“There’s somethin’ in that,” said Sam, ruminating; “there’s 
somethin’ in that.” 

“ If I knew any respectable gentleman who would take the 
matter up,” continued Mr. Trotter, “ I might have some hope 
of preventing the elopement ; but there’s the same difficulty, 
Mr. Walker, just the same. I know no gentleman in this 
strange place ; and ten to one if I did, whether he would believe 
my story.” 

“ Come this way,” said Sam, suddenly jumping up, and 
grasping the mulberry-man by the arm. “My mas’r’s the man 
you want, I see. And after a slight resistance on the part of 
Job Trotter, Sam led his newly-found fin'end to the apartment 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


249 


of Mr. Pickwick, to whom he presented him, together with a 
brief summary of the dialogue we have just repeated. 

I am very sorry to betray my master, Sir,” said Job Trot- 
ter. applying to his eyes a pink check pocket-handkerchief of 
about th^ee inches square. 

‘‘The feeling does you a great deal of honor,” replied Mr. 
Pickwick ; “but it is your duty, nevertheless.” 

“ I know it is my duty. Sir,” replied Job, with great emotion. 
“We should all try to discharge our duty. Sir, and I humbly 
endeavor to discharge mine, Sir ; but it is a hard trial to betray 
a master. Sir, whose clothes you wear, and whose bread you eat, 
even though he is a scoundrel, Sir. ” 

“ You are a very good fellow,” said Mr. Pickwick, much 
affected ; “an honest fellow.” 

“Come, come,” interposed Sam, who had witnessed Mr. 
Trotter’s tears with considerable impatience, “blow this here 
water-cart bis’ness. It won’t do no good, this won’t.” 

“Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, reproachfully, “I am sorry to 
find that you have so little respect for this young man’s feel- 
ings. ” 

“His feelin’s is all wery well. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller; 
“ and as they’re so wery fine, and it’s a pity he should lose ’em, 
I think he’d better keep ’em in his own bussum, than let ’em 
ewaporate in hot water, ’specially as they do no good. Tears 
never yet wound up a clock, or worked a steam ingin’. The 
next time you go out to a smoking party, young feller, fill your 
pipe with that ’ere reflection ; and for the present, just put that 
bit of pink gingham into your pocket. ’Ta’n’t so handsome, 
that you need keep waving it about, as if you was a tight-rope 
dancer. ” 

“My man is in the right,” said Mr. Pickwick, accosting Job, 
“although his mode of expressing his opinion is somewhat 
homely, and occasionally incomprehensible. 

“He is. Sir, very right,” said Mr. Trotter, “and I will give 
way no longer.” 

“Very well,” said Mr. Pickwick. “How, where is the 
boarding-school.” 

“ It is a large, old, red-brick house, just outside the town. 
Sir,” replied Job Trotter. 


260 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“And wLen,” said Mr. Pickwick, “when is this villanoua 
design to be carried into execution — when 5s this elopement to 
take place 

“To-night, Sir,’’ replied Job. 

“To-night I” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 

“This very night. Sir,” replied Job Trotter. “Thaifis what 
alarms me so much.” 

“ Instant measures must be taken,” said Mr. Pickwick. “ I 
will see the lady who keeps the establishment, immediately.” 

“I beg your pardon, Sir,” said Job, “but that course of pro- 
ceeding will never do.” 

“ Why not ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“My master. Sir, is a very artful man.” 

“I know he is,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ And he has so wound himself round the old lady’s heart, 
Sir,” resumed Job, “that she would believe nothing to his pre- 
judice, if you went down on your bare knees, and swore it ; 
especially as you have no proof but the word of a servant, who, 
for any thing she knows (and my master would be sure to say 
so), was discharged for some fault, and does this in revenge.” 

“What had better be done, then ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Nothing but taking him in the very act of eloping, will 
convince the old lady. Sir,” replied Job. 

“ All them old cats will run their heads agin mile-stones,” 
observed Mr. Weller in a parenthesis. 

“Put this taking him in the very act of elopement, would be a 
very difficult thing to accomplish, I fear,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ I don’t know. Sir,” said Mr. Trotter, after a few moments’ 
reflection. “ I think it might be very easily done.” 

“ How ?” was Mr. Pickwick’s inquiry. 

“Why,” replied Mr. Trotter, “iny master and I, being in 
the confidence of the two servants, will be secreted in the kitchen 
at ten o’clock. When the family have retired to rest, we shall 
come out of the kitchen, and the young lady out of her bed- 
room. A post-chaise will be waiting, and away we go.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Well, Sir, I have been thinking that if you were waiting in 
the garden behind, alone — ” 

“Alone,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Why alone?” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


261 


“I thought it very natural,” replied Job, “that the old lady 
wouldn’t like such an unpleasant discovery to be made before 
more persons than can possibly be helped.. The young lady 
too, Sir — consider her feelings.” 

4 “ You are very right,” said Mr. Pickwick. “The considera- 
tion evinces great delicacy of feeling. Go on ; you are very 
right.” 

“ Well, Sir, I was thinking that if you were waiting in the 
back garden alone, and I was to let you in, at the door which 
opens into it, from the end of the passage, at exactly half-past 
eleven o’clock, you would be just in the very moment of time, to 
assist m.e in frustrating the designs of this bad map, by whom I 
have been unfortunately ensnared.” Here Mr. Trotter sighed 
deeply. 

“Don’t distress yourself on that account,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
“if he had one grain of the delicacy of feeling which distinguishes 
you, humble as your station is, I should have some hopes of 
him.” 

Job Trotter bowed low; and in spite of Mr. Weller’s pre- 
vious remonstrance, the tears again rose to his eyes. 

“ I never see such a feller,” said Sam. “Bless’d if I don’t 
think he’s got a main in his head as is always turned on.” 

“ Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, with great severity. “ Hold 
your tongue.” 

“ Wery well. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“ 1 don’t like this plan,” said Mr. Pickwick, after deep medi- 
tation. “ Why cannot I communicate with the young lady’s 
friends ?” 

“ Because they live one hundred miles from here. Sir,?’ responded 
Job Trotter. 

“ That’s a clincher,” said Mr. Weller aside. 

“ Then this garden,” resumed Mr. Pickwick. “ How am I 
to get into it ?” 

“ The wall is very low. Sir, and your servant will give you a 
leg up.” 

“ My servant will give me a leg up,” repeated Mr. Pickwick, 
mechanically. “You will be sure to be near this door, that you 
speak of ?” 

“You cannot mistake it, Sir; it’s the only one that opens 


252 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Into the garden. Tap at it, when you hear the clock strike, 
and I will open it instantly.” 

“I don’t like the plan,” said Mr. Pickwick ; “but as I see no 
other, and as the happiness of this young lady’s whole life is at 
stake, I adopt it. I shall be sure to be there.” 

Thus, for the second time, did Mr. Pickwick’s innate good 
feeling involve him in an enterprise, from which he would most 
willingly have stood aloof. 

“ What is the name of the house ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Westgate House, Sir. You turn a little to the right when 
you get to the end of the town ; it stands by itself some little 
distance off the high road, with the name on a brass plate on 
the gate.” 

“ I know it,” said Mr. Pickwick. “ I observed it once before, 
when I was in this town. You may depend upon me.” 

Mr. Trotter made another bow, and turned to depart, when 
Mr. Pickwick thrust a guinea into his hand. 

“You’re a fine fellow,” said Mr. Pickwick, “and I admire 
your goodness of heart. No thanks. Remember — eleven 
o’clock.” 

“There is no fear of ray forgetting it, Sir,” replied Job 
Trotter. With these words he left the room, followed by 
Sam. 

“I say,” said the latter, “not a bad notion that ’ere crying. 
I’d cry like a rain-water spout in a shower, on such good terms. 
How do you do it ?” 

“It comes from the heart, Mr. Walker,” replied Job, solemnly. 
“ Good morning. Sir.” 

“You’re a soft customer, you are ; — we’ve got it all out o’ 
you, any how,” thouglit Mr. Weller, as Job walked away. 

We cannot state the precise nature of the thoughts which 
passed through Mr. Trotter’s mind, because we don’t know what 
they were. 

The day wore on, evening came, and at a little before ten 
o’clock Sam Weller reported that Mr. Jingle and Job had gone 
out together, that their luggage was packed up, and that they 
had ordered a chaise. The plot was evidently in execution aa 
Mr. Trotter had foretold. 

Half-past ten o’clock arrived, and it was time for Mr 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


253 

Pickwick to issue forth on his delicate errand. Resisting 
Sam’s tender of his great-coat, in order that he might have no 
incumbrance in scaling the wall, he set forth, Tollo wed by his 
attendant. 

There was a bright moon, but it was behind the clouds. It 
was a fine dry night, but it was most uncommonly dark. Paths, 
hedges, fields, houses, and trees, were enveloped in one deep 
shade. The atmosphere was hot and sultry, the summer light- 
ning quivered faintly on the verge of the horizon, and was the 
only sight that varied the dull gloom in which every thing was 
wrapped — sound there was none, except the distant barking of 
some restless house-dog. 

They found the house, read the brass plate, walked round 
the wall, and stopped at that portion of it which divided them 
from the bottom of the garden. 

“You will return to the inn, Sam, when you have assisted me 
over,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Wery well. Sir.” 

“ And you will sit up, till I return.” 

“ Cert’nly, Sir.” 

“ Take hold of my leg ; and when I say ‘ Over,’ raise me 
gently.” 

“ All right, Sir.” 

Having settled these preliminaries, Mr. Pickwick grasped 
the top of the wall, and gave the word “ Over,” which was very 
literally obeyed. Whether his body partook in some degree of 
the elasticity of his mind, or whether Mr. Weller’s notions of a 
gentle push were of a somewhat rougher description than Mr. 
Pickwick’s, the immediate effect of his assistance was to jerk 
that immortal gentleman completely over the wall on to the bed 
beneath, where, after crushing three gooseberry-bushes and a 
rose-tree, he finally alighted at full length. 

“You ha’n’t hurt yourself, I hope. Sir,” said Sam, in a loud 
whisper, as soon as he recovered from the surprise consequent 
upon the mysterious disappearance of his master. 

“I have not hurt myself , Sara, certainly,” replied Mr. Pick- 
wick, from the other side of the wall, “ but I rather think that 
you have hurt me.” 

“ I hope not. Sir,” said Sam. 


254 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Never mind^” said Mr. Pickwick, rising, “it’s liothing but 
a few scratches. Go away, or we shall be overheard.” 

“Good-bye, Sir.” 

“ Good-bye.’^ 

With stealthy steps, Sam Weller departed, leaving Mr. Pick- 
wick alone in the garden. 

Lights occasionally appeared in the different windows of the 
house, or glanced from the staircases, as if the inmates were 
retiring to rest. Not caring to go too near the door, until the 
appointed time, Mr. Pickwick crouched into an angle of the 
wall, and awaited its arrival. 

It was a situation which might well have depressed the spirits 
of many a man. Mr. Pickwick, however, felt neither depression 
nor misgiving. He knew that his purpose was in the main a 
good one, and he placed implicit reliance on the high-minded 
Job. It was dull, certainly; not to say, dreary, but a con- 
templative man can always employ himself in meditation. Mr. 
Pickwick had meditated himself into a doze, when he was 
roused by the chimes of the neighboring church ringing out the 
hour — half-past eleven. 

“ That’s the time,” thought Mr. Pickwick, getting cautiously 
on his feet. He looked up at the house. The lights had dis- 
appeared, and the shutters were closed — all in bed, no doubt. 
He walked on tip-toe to the door, and gave a gentle tap. Two 
or three minutes passing without any reply, he gave another 
tap rather louder, and then another rather louder than that. 

At length the sound of feet was audible upon the stairs, and 
then the light of a candle shone through the key-hole of the 
door. There was a good deal of unchaining and unbolting, 
and the door was slowly opened. 

Now the door opened outwards; and as the door opened 
wider and wider, Mr. Pickwick receded behind it more and 
more. What was his astonishment when he just peeped out, 
by way of caution, to see that the person who had opened 
it uas — not Job Trotter, but a servant girl with a candle in 
her hand! Mr. Pickwick drew in his head again, with the 
swiftness displayed by that admirable melo-drainatic perforiner. 
Punch, when he lies in wait fo? the flat-headed comedian, with 
the tin box of music. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


256 


It must have been the cat, Sarah, said the girl, addressing 
herself to some one in the house. “ Puss, puss, puss — tit, tit, 
tit.» 

Put no animal being decoyed by these blandishments, the 
girl sloTsly closed the door, and refastened it; leaving Mr. Pick* 
wick drawn up straight against the wall. 

“This is very curious,” thought Mr. Pickwick. “They are 
sitting up beyond their usual hour, I suppose. Extremely un- 
fortunate, that they should have chosen this night, of all others, 
for such a purpose — exceedingly.” And with these thoughts, 
Mr. Pickwick cautiously retired to the angle of the wall in 
which he had been before ensconced ; waiting until such time as 
he might deem it safe to repeat the signal. 

He had not been here five minutes, when a vivid flash of 
lightning was followed by a loud peal of thunder, that crashed 
and rolled away in the distance with terrific noise — then 
came another flash of lightning, brighter than the other, and a 
second peal of thunder louder than the first; and then down 
came the rain, with a force and fury that swept every thing be- 
fore it. 

“Mr. Pickwick was perfectly aware that a tree is a very 
dangerous neighbor in a tliunder-storm. lie had a tree on his 
riglit, a tree on his left, a third before him, and a fourth behind. 
If he remained where he was, he might fall the victim of an 
accident ; if he showed himself in the centre of the garden, he 
might be consigned to a constable; — once or twice he tried to 
scale the wall, but having no other legs this time than those 
with which nature had furnished him, the only effect of his 
struggles was to inflict a variety of very unpleasant gratings 
on his knees and shins, and to throw him into a state of the most 
profuse perspiration. 

“ What a dreadful situation,” said Mr. Pickwick, pausing to 
wipe his brow after this exercise. He looked up at the house 
.—all was dark. They must be gone to bed now. He would 
try the signal again. 

He walked on tip-toe across the moist gravel, and tapped at 
the door. He hekl his breath, and listened at the key-hole. 
No reply: very odd. Another knock. He listened again. 
There was a low whispering inside, and t len a voice cried— 


266 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** Who’s there ?” 

“ That’s not Job,” thought Mr. Pickwick, hastily drawing 
himself straight up against the wall again. “ It’s a woman.” 

He had scarcely had time to form this conclusion, when a win- 
dow above stairs was thrown up, and three or four female voices 
repeated the query — “ Who’s there ?” 

Mr. Pickwick dared not move hand nor foot. It was clear 
that the whole establishment was roused. He made up his 
mind to remain where he was, until the alarm had subsided: 
and then to make a supernatural effort, and get over the wall, 
or perish in the attempt. 

Like all Mr. Pickwick’s determinations, this was the best that 
could be made under the circumstances; but, unfortunately, it 
was founded upon the assumption that they would not venture 
to open the door again. What was his discomfiture, when he 
heard the chain and bolts withdrawn, and saw the door slowly 
opening, wider and wider! He retreated into the corner, step 
by step ; but do what he would, the interposition of his own 
person prevented its being opened to its utmost width. 

“ Who’s there ?” screamed a numerous chorus of treble voices 
from the staircase inside, consisting of the spinster lady of the 
establishment, three teachers, five female servants, and thirty 
boarders, all half-dressed, and in a forest of curl-papers. 

Of course, Mr. Pickwick didn’t say who was there ; and then 
the burden of the chorus changed into — “ Lor’ I I am so 
frightened.” 

“ Cook,” said the lady abbess, who took care to be on the 
top stair, the very last of the group — “ Cook, why don’t you 
go a little way into the garden ?” 

“ Please, ma’am, I don’t like,” responded the cook. 

“ Lor’, what a stupid thing that cook is I” said the thirty 
boarders. 

“ Cook,” said the lady abbess, with great dignity; “don’t 
answer me, if you please. I insist upon your looking into the 
garden, immediately.” 

Here the cook began to cry, and the housemaid said it was 
“ a shame 1” for which partisanship she received a month’-s 
warning on the spot. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


26 t 


** Do you hear, cook said the lady abbess, stamping her 
foot, impatiently. 

“ Don’t your hear your missis, cook ?” said the three teachers. 

“What an impudent thing that cook is I” said the thirty 
boarders. 

The unfortunate cook, thus strongly urged, advanced a step or 
two, and holding her candle just where it prevented her seeing 
any thing at all, declared there was nothing there, and it must 
have been the wind ; and the door was just going to be closed 
in consequence, when an inquisitive boarder, who had been 
peeping between the hinges, set up a fearful screaming, which 
called back the cook and the housemaid, and all the more 
adventurous, in no time. 

“What is the matter with Miss Smithers ?” said the lady 
abbess, as the aforesaid Miss Smithers proceeded to go into 
hysterics of four young lady power. 

“ Lor’, Miss Smithers, dear,” said the other nine-and-twenty 
boarders. 

“ Oh, the man — the man — ^behind the door 1” screamed Miss 
Smithers. 

The lady abbess no sooner heard this appalling cry, than she 
retreated to her own bedroom, double-locked the door, and 
fainted away all comfortably. The boarders, and the teachers, 
and the servants, fell back upon the stairs, and upon each other ; 
and never was such a screaming, and fainting, and struggling, 
beheld. In the midst of the tumult, Mr. Pickwick emerged 
from his concealment, and presented himself amongst them. 

“ Ladies — dear ladies,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Oh. he says we’re dear,” cried the oldest and ugliest teacher. 
“ Oh the u retch !” 

“Ladies,” roared Mr. Pick\vick, rendered desperate by the 
danger of his situation. “ Hear me ; I am no robber. I want 
the lady of the house.” 

“ Oh, what a ferocious monsfer I” screamed another teacher. 
“He wants Miss Tomkins.” 

Here there was a general scream. 

“ Ring the alarm bell, somebody,” cried a dozen voices. 

“Don’t — don’t,” shouted Mr. Pickwick, “Look at me. Do 
I look like a robber ? My dear ladies^you may bind me 
IT 


268 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


baud and leg, or lock me up in a closet, if you like. Only hear 
what I have got to say — only hear me.” 

“ How did you come in our garden ?” faltered the house- 
maid. 

“ Call the lady of the house, and I’ll tell her every thing — 
every thing said Mr. Pickwick, exerting his lungs to the 
utmost pitch. “ Call her — only be quiet, and call her, and you 
shall hear every thing.” 

It might have been Mr. Pickwick’s appearance, or it might 
have been his manner, or it might have been the temptation — 
so irresistible to the female mind — of hearing something at 
present enveloped in mystery, that reduced the more reasonable 
portion of the establishment (some four individuals) to a state 
of comparative quiet. By them it was proposed, as a test of 
Mr. Pickwick’s sincerity, that he should immediately submit to 
personal restraint; and that gentleman having consented to hold 
a conference with Miss Tompkins, from the interior of a closet 
in which the day-boarders hung their bonnets and sandwich- 
bags, he at once stepped into it, of his own accord, and was 
securely locked in. This revived the others ; and Miss Tomkins 
having been brought to, and brought down, the conference 
began. 

“ What did you do in my garden, man ?” said Miss Tomkins, 
in a faint voice. 

“ I came to warn you, that one of your young ladies was 
going to elope to-night,” replied Mr. Pickwick, from the interior 
of the closet. 

“Elope!” exclaimed Miss Tomkins, the three teachers, the 
thirty boarders, and the five servants. “ Who with ?” 

“Your friend, Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall.” 

“ My friend I I don’t know any such person.” 

“Well: Mr. Jingle, then.” 

“ I never heard the name in my life.” 

“ Then, I have been deceived, aud deluded,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick. “I have been the victim of a conspiracy — a foul and 
base conspiracy. Send to the Angel, my dear Ma’am, if you 
don’t believe me. Send to the Angel for Mr. Pickwick’s man- 
servant* I implore you. Ma’am.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


259 


“He must be respectable — he keeps a man-servaut.” said 
Miss Tomkins to the writing and ciphering governess. 

“ It’s my opinion, Miss Tomkins,” said the writing and ciphei- 
ing governess, “that his man-servant keeps him. I think he’s 
a madman, Miss Tomkins, and the other’s his keeper.” 

“ I think you are very right. Miss Gwynn,” responded Miss 
Tomkins. “ Let two of the servants repair to the Angel, and 
let the others remain here, to protect ns.” 

So two of the servants were despatched to the Angel in search 
of Mr. Samuel Weller : and the remaining three stopped be- 
hind to protect Miss Tomkins, and the three teachers, and the 
thirty boarders. And Mr. Pickwick sat down in the closet, 
beneath a grove of sandwich-bags, and awaited the return of the 
messengers, with all the philosophy and fortitude he could 
summon to his aid. 

An hour and a half elapsed before they came bapk, and when 
they did come, Mr. Pickwick recognised, in addition to the 
voice of Mr. Samuel Weller, two other voices, the tones of 
W'hich struck familiarly on his ear ; but whose they were, he 
could not for the life of him call to mind. 

A very brief conversation ensued. The door was unlocked. 
Mr. Pickwick stepped out of the closet, and found himself in 
the presence of the whole establishment of Westgate House, Mr. 
Samuel Weller, and — old Wardle, and his destined son-in-law, 
Mr. Trundle 1 

“My dear friend,” said Mr. Pickwick, running forward and 
grasping Wardle’s hand, “my dear friend, pray, for Heaven’s 
sake, explain to this lady the unfortunate and dreadful situation 
in which I am placed. You must have heard it from my ser- 
vant ; say, at all events, my dear fellow, that I am neither a 
robber or a madman.” 

“ I have said so, my dear friend. I have said so already,’^ 
replied Mr. Wardle, shaking the right hand of his friend, while 
Mr. Trundle shook the left. 

“And whoever says, or has said, he is,” interposed Mr. 
Weller, stepping forward, “says that which is not the truth, 
but so far from it, on the contrairy, quite the reverse. And if 
there’s any number o’ men on these here premises as has said 
so, I shall be very happy to give ’em all a wery convincing 


260 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


proof o’ their being mistaken, in this here wery room, if these 
wery respectable ladies’ll have the goodness to retire, and order 
’em up, one at a time.” Having delivered this defiance with 
great volubility, Mr. Weller struck his open palm empliatically 
wiili his clenched fist, and winked pleasantly on Miss Tomkins, 
the intensity of whose horror at his supposing it within the 
bounds of possibility that there could be any men on the 
premises of Westgate House Establishment for Young Ladies, 
it is impossible to describe. 

Mr. Pickwick’s explanation having been already partially 
made, was soon concluded. But neither in the course of his 
wmlk home with his friends, nor afterwards when seated before 
a blazing fire at the supper he so much needed, could a single 
observation be drawn from him. He seemed bewildered and 
amazed. Once, and only once, he turned round to Mr. Wardle, 
and said — 

“ How did you come here ?” 

“ Trundle and I came down here, for some good shooting on 
the first,” replied Wardle. “We arrived to-night, and were 
astonished to hear from your servant that you were here too. 
But I am glad you are,” said the jolly old fellow, slapping him 
on the back. “I am glad you are. We shall have a jolly party 
on the first, and wee’ll give Winkle another chance — eh, old 
boy ?” 

Mr. Pickwick made no reply ; he did not even ask after his 
friends at Dingley Dell, and shortly afterwards retired for the 
night, desiring Sam to fetch his caudle when he rung. 

The bell did ring in due course, and Mr. Weller presented 
himself. 

“ Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking out from under the bed- 
clothes. 

“ Sir,” said Mr. Weller. 

Mr. Pickwick paused, and Mr. Weller snuffed the candle. 

“ Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick again, as if with a desperate, 
effort. 

“Sir,” said Mr. Weller, once more. 

“ Where is that Trotter ?” 

“Job, Sir?” 

“Yes.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


261 


“Gone, Sir.” 

“With his master, I suppose.” 

“ Friend or master, or whoever he is, he’s gone with him,’’’ 
replied Mr. Weller. “ There’s a pair on ’em, Sir.” 

“Jingle suspected my design, and set that fellow on yon, 
with this story, I suppose ?” said Mr. Pickwick half chokiLg 

“Just that, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“ It was all false, of course ?” 

“ All, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. “ Reg’lar do. Sir ; artful 
dodge.” 

“ I don’t think he’ll escape us quite so easily the next time, 
Sam ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“I don’t think he will. Sir.” 

“ Whenever I meet that Jingle again, wherever it is,” said 
Mr. Pickwick, raising himself in bed, and indenting his pillow 
with a tremendous blow, “ I’ll inflict personal chastisement on 
him, in addition to the exposure he so richly merits. I will, or 
my name is not Pickwick.” 

“ And venever I catches hold o’ that there mnUn-cholly chap 
with the black hair,” said Sara, “if I don’t l^*«ig some real 
water into his eyes, for once in a way, my nam** «».iu’t Weller. 
Good night, Sir.” 


CHAPTER XTTIL 


enOWING THAT AN ATTACK OF RHEUMATISM, IN SOME CASES 
ACTS AS A QUICKENER TO INVENTIVE GENIUS. 

The constitution of Mr. Pickwick, though able to sustain a 
very considerable amount of exertion and fatigue, was not proof 
against such a combination of attacks as he had undergone on 
the memorable night recorded in the last chapter. The pro- 
cess of being washed in the night air, and rough-dried in a close 
closet, is as dangerous as it is peculiar. Mr. Pickwick was laid 
up with an attack of rheumatism. 

But although the bodily powers of the great man were thus 
impaired, his mental energies retained their pristine vigor. His 
spirits were elastic; his good-humor was restored. Even the 
vexation consequent upon his recent adventure had vanished 
from his mind ; and he could join in the hearty laughter which 
any allusion to it excited in Mr. Wardle, without anger and with- 
out embaiTassment. Nay, more. During the two days Mr. Pick- 
wick was confined to his bed, Sam was his constant attendant. 
On the first, he endeavored to amuse his master by anecdote and 
conversation; on the second, Mr. Pickwick demanded his writ- 
ing-desk, and pen and ink, and was deeply engaged during the 
whole day. On the third, being able to sit up in his bed-cham- 
ber, he despatched his valet with a message to Mr. Wardle and 
Mr. Trundle, intimating that if they would take their wine 
there, that evening, they w’ould greatly oblige him. The invita- 
tion was most willingly accepted ; and when they were seated 
over their wine, Mr. Pickwick, with sundry blushes, produced 
the following little tale, as having been “ edited” by himself, 
during his recent indisposition, from his notes of Mr. Weller’s 
unsophisticated recital. 

"THE PARISH CLERK— A TALE OF TRUE LOVE. 

“ Once upon a time, in a very small country town, at a con- 
siderable distance from London, there lived a little man named 
( 262 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


263 


Nathaniel Pipkin, who was the parish clerk of the little town, 
and lived in a little house in the little high street, within ten 
minutes’ walk of the little church ; and who was to be found 
every day from nine till four, teaching a little learning to the 
little boys. Nathaniel Pipkin was a harmless, inoSensive, good- 
natured being, with a turned-up nose, and rather turned-in legs, a 
cast ill his eye, and a halt in his gait; and he divided his time 
between the church and his school, verily believing that there ex- 
isted not, on the face of the earth, so clever a man as the curate, so 
imposing an apartment as the vestry-room, or so well-ordered a 
seminary as his own. Once, and only once, in his life, Nathaniel 
Pipkin had seen a bishop— -a real bishop, with his arms in lawn 
sleeves, and his head in a wig. He had seen him walk, and 
heard him talk at a confirmation, on which momentous occasion 
Nathaniel Pipkin was so overcome with reverence and awe, 
when the aforesaid bishop laid his hand on his head, that he 
fainted right clean away, and was borne out of church in the 
arms of the beadle. 

“This was a great event, a tremendous era, in Nathaniel 
Pipkin’s life, and it was about the only one that had ever 
occurred to ruffle the smooth current of his quiet existence, 
when happening one fine afternoon, in a fit of mental abstrac- 
tion, to raise his eyes from the slate on which he was devis- 
ing some tremendous problem in compound addition for an 
offending urchin to solve, they suddenly rested on the blooming 
countenance of Maria Lobbs, the only daughter of old Lobbs, 
the great saddler over the way. Now, the eyes of Mr. Pipkin 
had rested on the pretty face of Maria Lobbs many a time and 
oft before, at church and elsewhere : but the eyes of Maria 
Lobbs had never looked so bright, the cheeks of Maria Lobbs 
had never looked so ruddy, as upon this particular occasion. 
No wonder then that Nathaniel Pipkin was unable to take his 
eyes from the countenance of Miss Lobbs ; no wonder that Miss 
Lobbs, finding herself stared at by a young man, withdrew her 
head from the window out of which she had been peeping, 
and shut the casement, and pulled down the blind ; no wonder 
that Nathaniel Pipkin, immediately thereafter, fell upon the 
young urchin who had previously offended, and cuffed and 


264 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


knocked him to his heart’s content. All this was very natural, 
and there’s nothing at all to wonder at about it. 

It is a matter of wonder, though, that any one of Mr, 
Nathaniel Pipkin’s retiring disposition, nervous temperament, 
and most particularly diminutive income, should from this day 
forth, have dared to aspire to the hand and heart of the only 
daughter of the fiery old Lobbs — of old Lobbs the great sad- 
dler, who could have bought up the whole village at one stroke 
of his pen, and never felt the outlay — old Lobbs, who was well 
known to have heaps of money, invested in the bank at the 
nearest market town — who was reported to have countless and 
inexhaustible treasures, hoarded up in the little iron safe with 
the big key-hole, over the chimney-piece in the back parlor — 
and who, it was well known, on festive occasions garnished his 
board with a real silver tea-pot, cream-ewer, and sugar-basin, 
which he was wont, in the pride of his heart, to boast should be 
his daughter’s property when she found a man to her mind. I 
repeat it, to be matter of profound astonishment and intense 
wonder, that Nathaniel Pipkin should have had the temerity to 
cast his eyes in this direction. But love is blind, and Nathaniel 
had a cast in his eye : and perhaps these two circumstances, 
taken together, prevented his seeing the matter in its propel 
light. 

Now, if old Lobbs had entertained the most remote or dis- 
tant idea of the state of the affections of Nathaniel Pipkin, he 
would just have razed the school-room to the ground, or exter- 
minated its master from the surface of the earth, or committed 
some other outrage and atrocity of an equally ferocious and 
violent description ; for he was a terrible old fellow, that Lobbs, 
when his pride was injured or his blood was up. Swear I Such 
trains of oaths would come rolling and pealing over the way, 
sometimes, when he was denouncing the idleness of the bony 
iippre'^itice with the thin legs, that Nathaniel Pipkin would 
shake in his shoes with horror, and the hair of his puj)ils’ heads 
would stand on end with fright. 

“ ell, day after day, when school was over, and the pupils 
gone, did Nathaniel Pipkin sit himself down at the front win- 
dow, and while he feigned to be reading a book, throw sidelong 
glances over the way in search of the bright eyes of Maria 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


265 


Lobbs ; and he hadn’t sat there many days, before the bright 
eyes appeared at an upper window, apparently deeply engaged 
in reading too. This was delightful, and gladdening to the 
heart of Kathaniel Pipkin. It was something to sit there for 
hours together, and look upon that pretty face when the eyes 
were cast down ; but when Maria Lobbs began to raise her 
eyes from her book, and dart their rays in the direction of Na- 
thaniel Pipkin, his delight and admiration were perfectly bound- 
less. At last, one day when he knew old Lobbs was out, 
Nathaniel Pipkin had the temerity to kiss his hand to Maria 
Lobbs ; and Maria Lobbs, instead of shutting the window, and 
pulling down the blind, kissed hers to him, and smiled. Upon 
which, Nathaniel Pipkin determined, that, come what might, 
he would develop the state of his feelings, without further 
delay. 

“ A prettier foot, a gayer heart, a more dimpled face, or a 
smarter form, never bounded so lightly over the earth they 
graced, as did those of Maria Lobbs, the old saddler’s daugh- 
ter. There was a roguish twinkle in her sparkling eyes, that 
would have made its way to far less susceptible bosoms than 
that of Nathaniel Pipkin ; and there was such a joyous sound 
in her merry laugh, that the sternest misanthrope must have 
smiled to hear it. Even old Lobbs himself, in the very height 
of his ferocity, couldn’t resist the coaxing of his pretty daughter : 
and when she, and her cousin Kate — an arch, impudent-looking, 
bewitching little person — made a dead set upon the old man to- 
gether, as, to say the truth, they very often did, he could have 
refused them nothing, even had they asked for a portion of the 
countless and inexhaustible treasures, which were hidden from 
the light, in the iron safe. 

“Nathaniel Pipkin’s heart beat high within him, when he saw 
this enticing little couple some hundred yards before him, one 
summer’s evening, in the very field in which he had many a time 
strolled about till night-time, and pondered on the beauty of 
Maria Lobbs. But though he had often thought then, how 
briskly he would walk up to Maria Lobbs and tell her of hia 
passion if he could only meet her, he felt, now that she was un- 
expectedly before him, all the blood in his body mounting to hia 
face, manifestly to the great detriment of his legs, which, deprived 


26 « 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


of their asnal portion, trembled beneath him. When they stop- 
ped to gather a hedge-flower, or listen to a bird, Nathaniel Pip- 
kin stopped too, and pretended to be absorbed in meditation, 
ns indeed he really was ; for he was thinking what on earth he 
should ever do, when tliey turned back, as they inevitably must 
in time, and met him face to face. But though he was afraid 
to make up to them, he couldn’t bear to lose sight of them ; so 
when they walked faster he walked faster, and when they lin- 
gered he lingered, and when they stopped he stopped ; and so 
they might have gone on, till the darkness prevented them, if 
Kate had not looked slily back, and encouragingly beckoned 
Nathaniel to advance. There was something in Kate’s manner 
that was not to be resisted, and so Nathaniel Pipkin complied 
with the invitation ; and after a great deal of blushing on his 
part, and immoderate laughter on that of the wicked little cousin, 
Nathaniel Pipkin went down on his knees on the dewy grass, 
and declared his resolution to remain there for ever, unless he 
was permitted to rise the accepted lover of Maria Lobbs. Upon 
tliis, the merr> laughter of Maria Lobbs rang through the calm 
evening air — without seeming to disturb it, though ; it had such 
a pleasant sound — and the wicked little cousin laughed more 
immoderately than before, and Nathaniel Pipkin blushed deeper 
than ever. At length, Maria Lobbs being more strenuously 
urged by the love-worn little man, turned away her head, and 
whispered her cousin to say, or at all events Kate did say, that 
^he felt much honored by Mr. Pipkin’s addresses, that her hand 
and heart were at her father’s disposal, but that nobody could 
be insensible to Mr. Pipkin’s merits. As all this was said with 
much gravity, and as Nathaniel Pipkin walked home with Maria 
Lobbs, and struggled for a kiss at parting, he went to bed a 
happy man, and dreamed all night long, of softening old Lobbs, 
opening the strong box, and marrying Maria. 

“ The next day, Nathaniel Pipkin saw old Lobbs go out upon 
his old grey pony, and after a great many signs at the window 
from the wicked little cousin, the object and meaning of which 
he could by no means understand, the bony apprentice with the 
thin legs came over to say that his master wasn’t coming home 
all night, and that the ladies expected Mr. Pipkin to tea at six 
o’clock precisely. How the lessons were got through that day. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


267 


neither Natl.aniel Pipkin nor his pupils knew any more than 
you do ; but they were got through somehow, and, after the boys 
had gone, Natl.Miiiel Pipkin took till full six o’clock to dress 
himself to his satisfaction : not that it took long to select the 
gurmcuts he should wear, inasmuch as he had no choice about 
the matter, but the putting them on to the best advantage, and 
touching them up previously, was a task of no inconsiderable 
difficulty or importance. 

‘‘There was a very snu-g little party, consisting of Maria 
Lobbs and her cousin Kate, and three or four romping, good- 
humored, rosy-cheeked girls. Nathaniel Pipkin had ocular 
demonstration of the fact, that even the rumors of old Lobbs’s 
treasures were not exaggerated. There were the real solid 
silver tea-pot, cream-ewer, and sugar-basin, on the table, and 
real silver-spoons to stir the tea with, and real china cups to 
drink it out of, and plates of the same, to bold the cakes and 
toast in. The only eyesore in the whole place, was another 
cousin of Maria Lobbs’s, and brother of Kate, whom Maria 
Lobbs called ‘ Henry,’ and who seemed to keep Maria Lobbs 
all to himself up in one corner of the table. It’s a delightful 
thing to sec affection in families, but it may be earned rather 
too far, and Nathaniel Pipkin could not help thinking that Maria 
Lobbs must be very particularly fond of her relations, if she paid 
as much attention to all of them as to this individual cousin. After 
tea, too, when the wicked little cousin proposed a game at blind 
man’s buff, it somehow or other happened that Nathaniel Pip- 
kin was nearly always blind, and whenever he laid his hand upon 
the cousin, he was sure to find that Maria Lobbs was not far off. 
And though the wicked little cousin and the other girls pinched 
him, and pulled his hair, and pushed chairs in his way, and all 
sorts of things, Maria Lobbs never seemed to come near him 
at all ; and once — once — Nathaniel Pipkin could have sworn he 
heard l!ie sound of a kiss, followed by a faint remonstrance from 
^\Iaria Lobbs, and a half-suppressed laugh from her female 
friends. All this was odd — very odd — and there is no saying 
wliat Nathaniel Pipkin might or might not have done, in con- 
sequence, if his thoughts had E.3t been suddenly directed into a 
new channel. 

“ The drcumstance which directed his thoughts into a new 


268 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


channel was a loud knocking at the street door, and the person 
who made this loud knocking at the street door, was no other 
than old Lobbs himself, who had unexpectedly returned, and 
wa? hammering away, like a coffin-maker ; for he wanted his 
supper. The alarming intelligence was no sooner communicated 
by the bony apprentice with the thin legs, than the girls tripped 
up stairs to Maria Lobbs’s bedroom, and the male cousin and 
Nathaniel Pipkin were thrust into a couple of closets in the 
sitting-room, for want of any better places of concealment ; and 
when Maria Lobbs and the wicked little cousin had stowed thorn 
away, and put the room to rights, they opened the street door 
to old Lobbs, who had never left off knocking since he first 
began. 

“ Now it did unfortunately happen that old Lobbs being very 
hungry was monstrous cross. Nathaniel Pipkin could hear him 
growling away like an old mastiff with a sore throat ; and when- 
ever the unfortunate apprentice with the thin legs came into the 
room, so surely did old Lobbs commence swearing at him in a 
most Saracenic and ferocious manner, though apparently with 
no other end or object than that of easing his bosom by the 
discharge of a few superfluous oaths. At length some supper, 
which had been warming up, was placed on the table, and then 
old Lobbs fell to, in regular style ; and having made clear work 
of it in no time, kissed his daughter and demanded his pipe. 

“ Nature had placed Nathaniel Pipkin^s knees in very close 
juxta- position, but when he heard old Lobbs demand his pipe^ 
they knocked together, as if they were going to reduce each 
other to powder ; for, depending from a couple of hooks, in the 
very closet in which he stood, was a large, brown-stemmed, silver- 
bowled pipe, which pipe he himself had seen in the mouth of 
old Lobbs, regularly every afternoon and evening, for the last 
five years. The two girls went down stairs for the pipe, and up 
stairs for the pipe, and everywhere but where they knew the pipe 
was, and old Lobbs stormed away meanwhile, in the most won- 
derful manner. At last he thought of the closet, and walked up 
to it. It was of no use a little man like Nathaniel Pipkin 
pulling the door inwards, when a great strong fellow like old 
Lobbs was pulling outwards. Old Lobbs just gave it one tug, 
and open it flew, disclosing Nathaniel Pipkin standing bolt up- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


209 


right inside, and shaking with apprehension from head to foot. 
Bless us ! what an appaling look old Lobbs gave him, as he 
dragged him out by the collar, and held him at arm’s-length. 

" Why, what the devil do you want here said old Lobbs, 
in a fearful voice. 

“ Nathaniel Pipkin could make no reply, so old Lobbs 
shook him backwards and forwards, for two or three miiiutcs, 
by way of arranging his ideas for him. 

“ ‘ What do you want here ?’ roared Tjobbs, ‘ I suppose you 
have come after my daughter, now.’ 

“ Old Lobbs merely said this as a sneer : for he did not 
believe that mortal presumption could have carried Nathaniel 
Pipkin so far. What was his indignation, when that poor man 
replied — 

“ ‘ Yes, I did, Mr. Lobbs — I did come after your daughter. 
I love her, Mr. Lobbs.” 

“ ‘ Why, you snivelling, wry-faced little villain,’ gasped old 
Lobbs, paralysed at the atrocious confession ; ‘ what do you 
mean by that ? Say this to my face I Damme, I’ll throttle 
you.’ 

“ It is by no means improbable that old Lobbs would have 
carried this threat into execution, in the excess of his rage, if 
his arm had not been stayed by a very unexpected apparition, 
to wit, the male cousin, who, stepping out of his closet, and 
walking up to old Lobbs, said — 

“ ‘ I cannot allow this harmless person. Sir, who has been 
asked here, in some girlish frolic, to take upon himself, in a 
very noble manner, the fault (if fault it is) which I am guilty of, 
and am ready to avow. I love your daughter, Sir ; and 1 
came here for the purpose of meeting her.’ 

“ Old Lobbs opened his eyes* very wide at this, but not wider 
than Nathaniel Pipkin. 

“ ‘ You did V said Lobbs, at last finding breath to speak. 

“ ' I did.” 

“ ‘ And I forbade you this house, long ago.’ 

“ ‘ You did, or I should not have been here, clandestinely, 
to-night.’ 

‘‘ I am sorry to record it of old Lobbs, but I think he would 


270 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


have struck the cousin, if his pretty daughter, with her bright 
eyes swimming in tears, had not clung to his arm. 

Don’t stop him, Maria,’ said the young man:' if he has 
the will to strike me, let him. I would not hurt a hair of his 
grey head, for the riches of the world.’ 

“ The old man cast down his eyes at this reproof, and they 
met those of his daughter. I have hinted once or twice before, 
that they were very bright eyes, and, though they were tearful 
now, their influence was by no means lessened. Old Lobba 
turned his head away, as if to avoid being persuaded by them, 
when, as fortune would have it, he encountered the face of the 
wicked little cousin, who, half afraid for her brother, and half 
laughing at Nathaniel Pipkin, presented as bewitching an 
expression of countenance, with a touch of slyness in it too, as 
any man, old or young, need look upon. She drew her arm 
coaxingly through the old man’s, and whispered something in 
his ear ; and do what he would, old Lobbs couldn’t help break- 
ing out into a smile, while a tear stole down his cheek, at the 
same time. 

“ Five minutes after this, the girls were brought down from 
the bedroom with a great deal of giggling and modesty ; and 
while the young people were making themselves perfectly happy, 
old Lobbs got down the pipe, and smoked it : and it was a 
remarkable circumstance about that particular pipe of tobacco, 
that it was the most soothing and delightful one he ever 
smoked. 

“ Nathaniel Pipkin thought it best to keep his omi counsel, 
and by so doing gradually rose into high favor with old Lobbs, 
who taught him to smoke in time ; and they used to sit out in 
the garden on the fine evenings for many years afterwards, 
smoking and drinking in great state. He soon recovered the 
effects of his attachment, for we find his name in the parish 
register, as a witness to the marriage of Maria Lobbs to her 
cousin ; and it also appears, by reference to other documents, 
that on the night of the wedding, he was incarcerated in the 
village cage, for having, in a state of extreme intoxication, 
committed sundry excesses in the streets, in all of which he was 
aided and abetted by the bony apprentice with the thin legs.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


BRIEFLY ILLUSTRATIVE OF TWO POINTS ; — FIRST, THE POWER OF 
HYSTERICS, AND, SECONDLY, THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 

m 

For two days after the dejeune at Mrs. Hunter’s the Pick- 
wickians remained at Eatanswill, anxiously awaiting the arrival 
of some intelligence from their revered leader. Mr. Tupman 
and Mr. Snodgrass were once again left to their own means of 
amusement; for Mr. Winkle, in compliance with a most press- 
ing invitation, continued to reside at Mr. Pott’s house, and to 
devote his time to the companionship of his amiable lady. 
Nor was the occasional society of Mr. Pott, himself, wanting to 
complete their felicity. Deeply immersed in the intensity of his 
speculations for the public weal, and the destruction of the In- 
dependent, it was not the habit of that great man to descend 
from his mental pinnacle to the humble level of ordinary minds. 
On this occasion, however, and as if expressly in compliment to 
any follower of Mr. Pickwick’s, he unbent, relaxed, stepped 
down from his pedestal, and walked upon the ground : benignly 
adapting his remarks to the comprehension of the herd, and 
seeming in outward form, if not in spirit, to be one of them. 

Such having been the demeanor of this celebrated public cha- 
racter towards Mr. Winkle, it will be readily imagined that con- 
siderable surprise was depicted on the countenance of the latter 
gentleman, when, as he was sitting alone in the breakfast-room, 
the door was hastily thrown open, and as hastily closed, on the 
entrance of Mr. Pott, who, stalking majestically towards him, 
and thrusting aside his proffered hand, ground his teeth, as if 
to put a sharper edge on what he was about to utter, and ex- 
claimed, in a saw-like voice, — 

“ Serpent !” 

“ Sir I” exclaimed Mr. Winkle, starting from his chair. 

Serpent, Sir,” repeated Mr. Pott, raising his voice, and then 

( 271 ) 


272 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


suddenly depressing it; “I said serpent. Sir — make the most 
of it.” 

Now, when you have parted with a man at twd o’clock in 
the morning, on terms of the utmost good fellowship, and he 
meets you again, at half-past nine, and greets you as a serpent^ 
it is not unreasonable to conclude that something of an unplea- 
sant nature has occurred meanwhile. So Mr. Winkle thought. 
He returned Mr. Pott’s gaze of stone, and in compliance with 
that gentleman’s request, proceeded to make the most he could 
^f the “serpent.” The most, however, was just nothing at all; 
so, after a profound silence of some minutes’ duration, he 
said, — 

“ Serpent, Sir I Serpent, Mr. Pott I What can you mean, 
Sir! — this is pleasantry.” 

“Pleasantry, Sir!” exclaimed Pott, with a motion of the 
hand, indicative of a strong desire to hurl the Britannia metal 

tea-pot at the head of his visitor. “ Pleasantry, Sir ! ^but no, 

I will be calm; I will be calm, Sir;” and in proof of his calm- 
ness, Mr. Pott flung himself into a chair, and foamed at the 
mouth. 

“ My dear Sir,” interposed Mr. Winkle. 

“ Dear Sir,” replied Mr. Pott. “ How dare you address me, 
as ‘dear Sir,’ Sir? How dare you look me in the face and 
do it ?” 

“Well, Sir, if you come to that,” responded Mr. Winkle, 
“how dare you look me in the face, and call me a serpent^ 
Sir ?” 

“Because you are one,” replied Mr. Pott. 

“ Prove it. Sir,” said Mr. Winkle, warmly. “ Prove it.” 

A malignant scowl passed over the profound face of the editor, 
as he drew from his pocket, the Independent of that morning ; 
and laying his finger on a particular paragraph, threw the 
journal across the table to Mr. Winkle. 

That gentleman took it up, and read as follows ; — 

“Our obscure and filthy contemporary, in some disgusting 
observations on the recent election of this borough, has pre- 
sumed to violate the hallowed sanctity of private life, and to 
refer, in a manner not to be misunderstood, to the personal 
affairs of our late candidate — ay, and notwithstanding his base 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


278 


defeat, we will add our future member, Mr. Fizkin. What does 
our dastardly contemporary mean? What would the ruffian 
say, if we, setting at naught, like him, the decencies of social 
intercourse, were to raise the curtain which happily conceals his 
private life from general ridicule, not to say from general ex- 
ecration I What, if we were even to point out, and comment 
on, facts and circumstances which are publicly notorious, and 
beheld by every one, but our mole-eyed contemporary — what 
if we were to print the following effusion, which we received 
while we were writing the commencement of this article from 
a talented fellow-townsman and correspondent : — 

“‘LINES TO A BRASS POT. 

“ ‘ Oh Pott ! if you’d known, 

How false she'd have grown, 

When you heard the marriage bells tinkle ; 

You’d have done then, I vow. 

What you cannot help now. 

And handed her over to W * ^ ” 

What,” said Mr. Pott, solemnly — “ What rhymes to ‘ tinkle,’ 
villain ?” 

“ What rhymes to tinkle ?” said Mrs. Pott, whose entrance 
at the moment forestalled the reply. “ What rliymes to tinkle ? 
Why, Winkle, I should conceive and saying this, Mrs. Pott 
smiled sweetly on the disturbed Pickwickian, and extended 
her hand towards him. The agitated young man would have 
accepted it, in his confusion, had not Pott indignantly inter- 
posed. 

“Back, Ma’am — back,” said the editor. “Take his hand 
before my very face I” 

“ Mr. P. I” said his astonished lady. 

“Wretched woman, look here,” exclaimed the husbond. 
“ Look here. Ma’am — ‘ Lines to a brass Pot,’ Ma’am. ‘ Brnss 
Pot;’ — that’s me. Ma’am. ‘False she'd have grown;’ — tlint’s 
yon. Ma'am — you.” With this ebullition of rage, which was 
Loi unaccompanied with something like a tremble, at the ex- 
pression of his wife’s face, Mr. Pott dashed the current number 
of I he Eatanswill Independent at her feet. 

“ Upon my word. Sir,” said the astonished Mrs. Pott, stoop- 
ing to pick up the paper. “ Upon my word, Sir.” 

18 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


m 

Mr. Pott winced beneath the contemptuous gaze of his wife. 
He had made a desperate struggle to screw up his courage, but 
it was fast coming unscrewed again. 

There appears nothing very tremendous in this little sen- 
tence, “Upon my word, Sir,” when it comes to be read; but 
the tone of voice in which it was delivered, and the look that 
accompanied it, both seeming to bear reference to some revenge 
to be thereafter wreaked upon the head of Pott, produced their 
full effect upon him. The most unskillful observer could have 
detected in his troubled countenance, a readiness to resign his 
Wellington boots to any efficient substitute who would have 
consented to stand in them at that moment. 

Mrs. Pott read the paragraph, uttered a loud shriek, and 
threw herself at full length on the hearth-rug, screaming, and 
tapping it with the heels of her shoes, in a manner which could 
leave no doubt of the propriety of her feelings on the occasion. 

“My dear,” said the terrified Pott, — “I didn’t say I be- 
lieved it; — I ” but the unfortunate man’s voice was 

drowned in the screaming of his partner. 

“Mrs. Pott, let me entreat you, my dear Ma’am, to compose 
yourself,” said Mr. Winkle ; but the shrieks and tappings were 
louder, and more frequent than ever. 

“My dear,” said Mr. Pott, “I am very sorry. If you won’t 
consider your own health, consider me, my dear. We shall 
have a crowd round the house.” Cut the more strenuously 
Mr. Pott entreated, the more vehemently the screams poured 
forth. 

Very fortunately, however, attached to Mrs. Pott’s person 
was a body-guard of one, a young lady whose ostensible 
employment was to preside over her toilet, but who ren- 
dered herself useful in a variety of ways, and in none more so 
than in the particular department of constantly aiding and 
abetting her mistress in every wish and inclination opposed to 
the desires of the unhappy Pott. The screams reuelied tliis 
young lady’s ears in due course, and brought her to the room 
with a speed which threatened to derange materially the very 
cjsquisite arrangement of her cap and ringlets. 

“ Oh, my dear, dear mistress !” exclaimed the body-guard. 


THE PICKWICK rAPERS. 


276 


kneeling frantically by the side of the prostrate Mrs. Pott. “Oh, 
my dear mistress, what is the matter 

“ Your master — your brutal master,” murmured the patient. 

Pott was evidently giving way. 

“ It’s a shame,” said the body-guard, reproachfully. “I know 
he’ll be the death on you. Ma’am. Poor dear thing I” 

He gave way more. The opposite party followed up tho 
attack. 

“ Oh, don’t leave me — don’t leave me, Goodwin,” murmured 
Mrs. Pott, clutching at the wrists of the said Goodwin with an 
hysteric jerk. “You’re the only person that’s kind to me, 
Goodwin.” 

At this affecting appeal, Goodwin got up a little domestic 
tragedy of her own, and shed tears copiously. 

“Never, Ma’am — never,” said Goodwin. “Oh, Sir, you 
should be careful — you should, indeed ; you don’t know what 
harm you may do Missis ; you’ll be sorry for it one day, I know 
— I’ve always said so.” 

The unlucky Pott looked timidly on, but said nothing. 

“ Goodwin,” said Mrs. Pott, in a soft voice. 

“ Ma’am,” said Goodwin. 

“ If you only knew how I have loved that man ” 

“Don’t distress yourself by recollecting it. Ma’am,” said the 
body-guard. 

Pott looked very frightened. It was time for a clencher. 

“ And now,” sobbed Mrs. Pott — “ now, after all, to be treated 
in this way ; to be reproached and insulted in the presence of a 
third party, and that party almost a stranger. But I will not 
submit to it, Goodwin,” continued Mrs. Pott, raising herself in 
the arms of her attendant. “My brother, the lieutenant, shall 
interfere. I’ll be separated, Goodwin.” 

“It would certainly serve him right. Ma’am,” said Goodwin. 

Whatever thoughts the threat of a separation might have 
awakened in Mr. Pott’s mind, he forebore to give utterance to 
them, and contented himself by saying, with great humility, — 

“ My dear, will you hear me ?” 

A fresh train of sobs was the only reply, as Mrs. Pott grew 
more hysterical, requested to be informed why she was ever 


276 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


born, and required sundry other pieces of information of a sirai* 
lar description. 

“ My dear,” remonstrated^^r. Pott, “ do not give way to 
these sensitive feelings. I never believed that the paragraph 
had any foundation, my dear — impossible. I was only angry, 
my dear — I may say outrageous — with the Independent people 
for daring to insert it ; that’s all and Mr. Pott cast an 
imploring look at the innocent cause of the mischief, as if to 
entreat him to say nothing about the serpent. 

“ And what steps. Sir, do you mean to take to obtain 
redress ?” inquired Mr. Winkle, gaining courage as he saw 
Pott losing it. 

“ Oh, Goodwin,” observed Mrs. Pott, “ does he mean to 
horsewhip the editor of the Independent — does he, Goodwin ?” 

“ Hush, hush, Ma’am ; pray keep yourself quiet,” replied the 
body-guard. “ I dare say he will, if you wish it. Ma’am.” 

“ Certainly,” said Pott, as his wife evinced decided symptoms 
of going off again — “ of course I shall.” 

“ When, Goodwin, — when ?” said Mrs. Pott, still undecided 
about the going off. 

“ Immediately, of course,” said Mr. Pott ; “ before the day 
is out.” 

“ Oh, Goodwin,” resumed Mrs. Pott, “ it’s the only way of 
meeting the slander, and setting me right with the world.” 

“ Certainly, Ma’am,” replied Goodwin, “ no man as is a man, 
Ma’am, could refuse to do it.” 

So as the hysterics were still hovering about, Mr. Pott said 
once more, that he would do it ; but Mrs. Pott was so over- 
come at the bare idea of having ever been suspected, that she 
was half-a-dozen times on the very verge of a relapse, and 
most unquestionably would have gone off, had it not been for 
the indefatigable efforts of the assiduous Goodwin, and repeated 
entreaties for pardon from the conquered Pott; and finally, 
when that unhappy individual had been frightened and snub- 
bed down to his proper level, Mrs. Pott recovered, and they 
went to breakfast. 

“ You will not allow this base newspaper slander to shorten 
your stay here, Mr. Winkle ?” said Mrs. Pott, smiling through 
the traces of her tears. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


277 


“ I hope not,” said Mr. Pott, actuated as he spoke by an 
internal wish that his visitor would choke himself with the 
morsel of dry toast which he was raising to his lips at the 
moment ; and so terminate his stay effectually. 

“ I hope not.” 

“ You are very good,” said Mr. Winkle : “ but a letter has 
been received from Mr. Pickwick — so I learn by a note from 
Mr. Tupman — which was brought up to my bedroom door, 
this morning — in which he requests us to join him at Bury, to- 
day ; and we are to leave by the coach at noon.” 

“ But you will come back ?” said Mrs. Pott. 

“ 0, certainly,” replied Mr. Winkle. 

“ You are quite sure ?” said Mrs. Pott, stealing a tendei 
look at her visitor. 

“ Quite,” revsponded Mr. Winkle. 

The breakfast passed off in silence, for each member of the 
party was brooding over his, or her, own personal grievances ; 
Mrs. Pott was regretting the loss of a beau ; Mr. Pott his rash 
pledge to horsewhip the Independent; and Mr. Winkle his 
having placed himself in so awkward a situation. Noon ap- 
proached, and after many adieux and promises to return, ho 
tore himself away. 

“ If he ever comes back, I’ll poison him,” thought Mr. Pott, 
as he turned into the little back office where he prepared his 
thunderbolts. 

“ If I ever do come back, and mix myself up with these peo- 
ple again,” thought Mr. Winkle, as he wended his way to the 
Peacock, “ I shall deserve to be horsewhipped myself — that’s 
all.” 

Ilis friends were ready, the coach was nearly so, and in half 
an hour they were proceeding on their journey, along the road 
over which Mr. Pickwick and Sam had so recently traveled, 
and of which, as we have already said something, we do not 
feel called upon to extract Mr. Snoagrass’s poetical and beau- 
tiful description. 

Mr. Weller was standing at the door of the Angel, readj* to 
receive them, and by that gentleman they were ushered to the 
apartment of Mr. Pickwick, where, to the no small surprise of 


278 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass, and the no small embarrass* 
ment of Mr. Tupman, they found old Wardle and Trundle. 

“ How are you said the old man, grasping Mr. Tupman^s 
hand. “ Don’t hang back, or look sentimental about it ; it 
can’t be helped, old fellow. For her sake I wish you’d had her ; 
for your own, I’m very glad you have not. A young fellow 
like you will do better one of these days — eh ?” With this 
consolation, old Wardle slapped Mr. Tupman on the back, 
and laughed heartily. 

‘‘ Well, and how are you, my fine fellows ?” said the old 
gentleman, shaking hands with Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass 
at the same time. “ I have just been telling Pickwick that 
we must have you all down at Christmas. We’re going to 
have a wedding — a real wedding this time.” 

“A wedding!” exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass, turning very pale. 

“ Yes a wedding. But don’t be frightened,” said the good- 
humored old man : “it’s only Trundle there, and Bella.” 

“ Oh, is that all ?” said Mr. Snodgrass, relieved from a pain- 
ful doubt which had fallen heavily on his breast. “ Give you 
joy. Sir. How is Joe ?” 

“Oh, he; — very well,” replied the old gentleman. “Sleepy 
as ever.” 

“ And your mother, and the clergyman, and all of ’em ?” 

“ Quite well.” 

“Where,” said Mr. Tupman, with an effort — “ where is — she, 
Sir ?” and he turned away his head, and covered his eyes with 
his hand. 

“ She said the old gentleman, with a knowing shake of the 
head. “ Do you mean my single relative — eh ?” 

Mr. Tupman, by a nod, intimated that his question applied 
to the disappointed Rachel. 

“Oh, she’s gone away,” said the old gentleman. “She’s 
hung at a relation’s, far enough off. She couldn’t bear to see 
the girls, so I let her go. But come, here’s the dinner. You 
must be hungry after your ride. I am, without any ride at all ; 
so let us fall to.” 

Ample justice was done to the meal ; and when they were 
seated round the table, after it had been disposed of, Mr. Pick- 
wick, to the intense horror and indignation of his followers, re- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


27d 


lated the adventure he had undergone, and the success which 
had attended the base artifices of the diabolical Jingle. 

“ And the attack of rheumatism which I caught in that, gar- 
den,” said Mr. Pickwick, in conclusion, “renders me lame at 
thh moment.” 

‘*1 too, have had something of an adventure,” said Mr. Win- 
kle, with a smile ; and at the request of Mr. Pickwick, he de- 
tailed the malicious libel of the Eatanswill Independent, and the 
consequent excitement of their friend, the editor. 

Mr. Pickwick’s brow darkened, during the recital. His 
friends observed it, and, when Mr. Winkle had concluded, main- 
tained a profound silence. Mr. Pickwick struck the table em- 
phatically with his clenched fist, and spoke as follows : — 

“ Is it not a wonderful circumstance,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
“ that we seem destined to enter no man’s house, without in- 
volving him in some degree of trouble ? Does it not, I ask, 
bespeak the indiscretion, or, worse than that, the blackness of 
heart — that I should say so ! — of my followers, that, beneath 
whatever roof they locate, they disturb the peace of mind and 
happiness of some confiding female ? Is it not, I say ” 

Mr. Pickwick would in all probability have gone on for some 
time, had not the entrance of Sam with a letter, caused him to 
break off in his eloquent discourse. He passed his handkerchief 
across his forehead, took off his spectacles, wiped them, and put 
them on again ; and his voice had recovered its wonted softness 
of tone, when he said, — 

“ What have you there, Sam ?” 

“ Called at the post-office, just now, and found this here letter 
as has laid there for two days,” replied Mr. Weller. “It’s 
sealed vith a vafer, and directed in round hand.” 

“I don’t know this hand,” said Mr. Pickwick, opening the 
letter. “ Mercy on us 1 what’s this ? It must be a jest ; it — 
it — can’t be true.” 

“What’s the matter?” was the general inquiry. 

“Nobody dead, is there?” said Wardle, alarmed at the 
horror in Mr. Pickwick’s countenance. 

Mr. Pickwick made no reply, but pushing the letter across 
the table, and desiring Mr. Tupmran to read it aloud, fell back 


280 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


in hia chair with a look of vacant astonishment quite alarming 
to behold. 

Mr. Tupman, with a trembling voice, read the letter, of 
which the following is a copy : — 

Freeman's Court, CornMll, August 28//i, 1827. 

Bar dell against Pickwick, 

Sir, 

Having been instructed by Mrs. Martha Bardell, to 
commence an action against you, for a breach of promise of 
marriage, for which the plaintiff lays her damages at fifteen 
hundred pounds, we beg to inform you that a writ has been 
issued against you in this suit, in the Court of Common Pleas ; 
and request to know, by return of post, the name of your 
attorney in London, who will accept service thereof. 

We are. Sir, 

Your obedient servants, 

Dodson and Fogo. 

Mr. Samuel Pickwick. 

There was something so impressive in the mute astonishment 
with which each man regarded his neighbor, and every man re- 
garded Mr. Pickwick, that all seemed afraid to speak. The 
silence was at length broken by Mr. Tupman. 

“ Dodson and Fogg,” he repeated, mechanically. 

“Bardell and Pickwick,” said Mr. Snodgrass, musing. 

“Peace of mind and happiness of confiding females,” mur- 
mured Mr. Winkle, with an air of abstraction. 

“It’s a conspiracy,” said Mr. Pickwick, at length recovering 
the power of speech ; — “ a base conspiracy between these two 
grasping attorneys, Dodson and Fogg. Mrs. Bardell would 
never do it; — she hasn’t the heart to do it; — she hasn’t the case 
to do it. Ridiculous — ridiculous.” 

“Of her heart,” said Wardle, with a smile, “you should cer- 
tainly be the best judge. I don’t wish to discourage you, but 
I should certainly say, that, of her case, Dodson and Fogg are 
far better judges than any of us can be.” 

“It’s a vile attempt to extort money,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“I hope it is,” ^aid Wardle. wth a short, dry cough. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


281 


“Who ever heard me address her in any way but that in 
which a lodger would address his landlady ?” continued Mr. 
Pickwick, with great vehemence. “ Who ever saw me with her ? 
Not even my friends here — ” 

“Except on one occasion,^’ said Mr. Tupman. 

Mr. Pickwick changed color. 

“All!” said Wardle. “Well, that’s important. There waa 
nothing suspicious then, I suppose ?” 

Mr. Tupman glanced timidly at his leader. “Why,” he said, 
“there was nothing suspicious; but — I don’t know how it hap- 
pened, mind — she certainly was reclining in his arms.” 

“Gracious powers 1” ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, as the recol- 
lection of the scene in question struck forcibly upon him; — 
“what a dreadful instance of the force of circumstances I So 
she was — so she was.” 

“And our friend was soothing her anguish,” said Mr. Winkle, 
rather maliciously. 

“So I was,” said Mr. Pickwick. “I won’t deny it. So I 
was.” 

“Hallo I” said Wardle; “for a case in which there’s nothing 
suspicious, this looks rather queer — eh, Pickwick — eh ? Ah, sly 
dog — sly dog !” and he laughed till the glasses on the sideboard 
rang again. 

“What a dreadful conjunction of appearances I” exclaimed Mr. 
Pickwick, resting his chin upon his hands. “Winkle — Tupman 
— I beg your pardon for the observations I made just now. We 
are all the victims of circumstances, and I the greatest.” With 
this apology, Mr. Pickwick buried his head in his hands, and 
ruminated; while Wardle measured out a regular circle of nods 
and winks, addressed to the other members of the company. 

“I’ll have it explained, though,” said Mr. Pickwick, raising 
his head and hammering the table. “ I’ll see this Dodson and 
Fogg. I’ll go to Loudon to-morrow I” 

“Not to-morrow,” said Wardle; “you’re too lame.” 

“Well then, next day.” 

“Next day is the first of September, and you’re pledged to 
ride out with us as far as Sir Geoffrey Manning’s grounds, at 
all events, and to meet us at lunch, if you don’t take the field.*’ 


282 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


‘‘Well then, the day after, said Mr. Pickwick; “Thursday 
■ — Sam.^’ 

“Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“ Take two places outside to London, on Thursday morning, 
for yourself and me.” 

“Wery well, Sir.” 

Mr. Weller left the room, and departed slowly on his errand, 
with his hands in his pocket, and his eyes fixed on the ground. 

“Rum feller, the hemperor,” said Mr. Weller, as he walked 
slowly up the street. “ Think o’ his makin’ up to that ere Mrs. 
Bardell — vith a little boy, too 1 Always the vay vith these here 
old ’uns, hows’ever, as is such steady goers to look at. I didn’t 
think he’d ha’ done it, though — I didn’t think he ha’ done it.” 
And moralising in this strain, Mr Samuel Weller bent bis steps 
towards the booking-office 


CHAPTER XX 


A PLEASANT DAY, WITH AN UNPLEASANT TERMINATION. 

The birds, who, happily for their own peace of mind, and 
personal comfort, were in blissful ignorance of the preparations 
which had been making to astonish them, on the first of Sep- 
tember, hailed it no doubt, as one of the pleasantest mornings 
they had seen that season. Many a young partridge who 
strutted complacently among the stubble with all the finicking 
coxcombry of youth, and many an older one who watched his 
levity out of his little round eye, with the contemptuous air of a 
bird of wisdom and experience, alike unconscious of their 
approaching doom, basked in the fresh morning air with lively 
and blithesome feelings, and a few hours afterwards were laid 
low upon the earth. But we grow affecting : let us proceed. 

In plain commonplace matter-of-fact, then, it was a fine 
morning — so fine that you would scarcely have believed that the 
few months of an English summer had yet flown by. Hedges, 
fields, and trees, hill and moorland, presented to the eye their 
ever-varying shades of deep rich green ; scarce a leaf had fallen ; 
scarce a sprinkle of yellow, mingled with the hues of summer, 
warned you that autumn had begun. The sky was cloudless ; 
the sun shone out bright and warm ; the songs of birds, and hum 
of myriads of summer insects, tilled the air; and the cottage 
gardens, crowded with flowers of every rich and beautiful tint, 
sparkled in the heavy dew, like beds of glittering jewels. Every 
thing bore the stamp of summer, and none of its beautiful colors 
had yet faded from the die. 

Such was the morning, when an open carriage in which were 
three Pickwickians, (Mr. Snodgrass having preferred to remain 
ai home,) Mr. Wardle, and Mr. Trundle, with Sam Weller on 
the box beside the driver, pulled up by a gate at the road -side, 
before which stood a tall raw-boned gamekeeper, and a half- 

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284 


THL PICKWICK PAPERS. 


booted, leather-leggined boy : each bearing a bag of capacious 
dimensions, and accompanied by a brace of pointers. 

“I say,” whispered Mr. Winkle to Wardle, as the man let 
dovm the steps, “they don’t suppose we’re going to kill game 
enough to fill those bags, do they ?” 

“Fill them I” exclaimed old Wardle. “Bless you, yes I 
You shall fill one, and I the other ; and when we’ve done with 
them, the pockets of our shooting-jackets will hold as much 
more.” 

Mr. Winkle dismounted without saying any thing in reply 
to this observation : but he thought within himself, that if the 
party remained in the open air, till he had filled one of the 
bags, they stood a considerable chance of catching tolerable 
colds in the head. 

“Hi, Juno, lass — hi, old girl; down, Daph, down,” said 
Wardle, caressing the dogs. “Sir Geoffrey still in Scotland, 
of course, Martin ?” 

The tall gamekeeper replied in the affirmative and looked 
with some surprise from Mr. Winkle, who was holding his gun 
as if he wished his coat-pocket to save him the trouble of pull- 
ing the trigger, to Mr. Tupman, who was holding his, as if he 
were afraid of it — as there is no earthly reason to doubt that 
he really was. 

“ My friends are not much in the way of this sort of thing 
yet, Martin,” said Wardle, noticing the look. “ Live and 
learn, you know. They’ll be good shots one of these days. 
I beg my friend Winkle’s pardon, though ; he has had some 
practice.” 

Mr. Winkle smiled feebly over his blue neckerchief in 
acknowledgment of the compliment, and got himself so myste- 
riously entangled with his gun, in his modest confusion, that 
if tht piece had been loaded, he must inevitably have shot him- 
self dead upon the spot. 

“ Y^ou mustn’t handle your piece in that ’ere wn.y, when you 
come to have the charge in it. Sir,” said the tall gamekeeper, 
gruffly, “ or I’m damned if you won’t make cold meat of some 
on us.” 

Mr. Winkle, thus adm mished, abruptly altered its position, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


286 


and in so doing, contrived to bring the baiTcl into pretly smart 
contact with Mr. 'Weller’s head. 

“ Hallo !” said Sam, picking up his hat, which had been 
knocked off, and rubbing his temple. “ Hallo, Sir, if you 
comes it this vay, you’ll fill one o’ them bags, and something 
to spare, at one fire.” 

Here the leather-leggined boy laughed very heartily, and 
then tried to look as if it w'as somebody else, whereat Mr. 
Winkle frowned majestically. 

“ AVhere did you tell the boy to meet us with the snack, 
Martin?” inquired Wardle. 

“Side of One-tree Hill, at twelve o’clock. Sir.” 

“That’s not Sir Geoffrey’s land, is it ?” 

“No, Sir; but it’s close by it. It’s Captain Bold wig’s 
land ; but there’ll be nobody to interrupt us, and there’s a fine 
bit of turf there.” 

“ Very well,” said old Wardle. “ Now the sooner we’re off 
the better. Will you join us at twelve, then, Pickwick ?” 

Mr. Pickwick was particularly desirous to view the sport, 
the more especially as he was rather anxious in respect of Mr. 
Winkle’s life and limbs. On so inviting a morning, too, it 
was very tantalising to turn back, and leave his friends to 
enjoy themselves. It was, therefore, with a very rueful air that 
he replied — 

“ Why, I suppose I must.” 

“Ain’t the gentleman a shot. Sir ?” inquired the long game- 
keeper. 

“ No,” replied Wardle ; “ and he’s lame besides.” 

“ I should very much like to go,” said Mr. Pickwick — “ very 
much.” 

There was a short pause of commiseration. 

“ There’s a barrow t’other side the hedge,” said the boy. 
“ If the gentleman’s servant would wheel along the paths, he 
could keep nigh to us, and we couLd lift it over the stiles and 
that.” 

“ The wcry thing,” said Mr, Weller, who was a parly in- 
terested, inasmuch as he ardently longed to see the sport. 
“ The wcry thing. Well said, Small-cheek ; I’ll have it out, 
in a minute.” 


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THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


But here a difficulty arose. The long gamekeeper resolutely 
protested against the introduction into a shooting party of a 
gentleman in a barrow, as a gross violation of all established 
rules and precedents. 

It was a great objection, but not an insurmountable one. 
The gamekeeper having been coaxed and feed, and having, 
moreover, eased his mind by “punching” the head of the inven 
tive youth who had first suggested the use of the machine, Mi , 
Pickwick was placed in it, and off the party set; Wardle and 
the long gamekeeper leading the way, and Mr. Pickwick in the 
barrow, propelled by Sam, bringing up the rear. 

“ Stop, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, when they had got halt 
across the first field. 

“What’s the matter now?” said Wardle. 

“I won’t suffer this barrow to be moved another step,” said 
Mr. Pickwick, resolutely, “ unless Winkle carries that gun of 
his in a different manner.” 

“ How am I to carry it ?” said the wretched Winkle. 

“ Carry it with the muzzle to the ground,” replied Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

“It’s so unsportsman-like,” reasoned Winkle. 

“ I don’t care whether it’s unsportsman-like or not,” replied 
Mr. Pickwick ; “ I am not going to be shot in a wheelbarrow, 
for the sake of appearances, to please any body.” 

“ I know the gentleman’ll put that ere charge into somebody 
afore he’s done,” growled the long man. 

“Well, well — I don’t mind,” said poor Winkle, turning his 
gun-stock uppermost; — “ there.” 

“Any thin’ for a quiet life,” said Mr. Weller; and on they 
went again. 

“ Stop,” said Mr. Pickwick, after they had gone a few yards 
further. 

“ What now?” said Wardle. 

“ That gun of Tupman’s is not safe : I know it isn’t,” said 
lilr. Pickwick. 

‘ Eh ? What I not safe ?” said Mr. Tupman, in a tone of 
great alarm. 

“Not as you are carrying it,” said Mr. Pickwick. “I am 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


287 


very Korry to make any further objection, but I cannot consent 
to go on, unlcfs you carry it as Winkle does his.” 

“ I think you had better. Sir,” said the long gamekeeper, 
“ or youhe quite as likely to lodge the charge in your own 
^v.*stcoat as in any body else’s.” 

Mr. Tupman, with the most obliging haste, placed his piece 
in the position required, and the party moved on again ; the 
two amateurs marching with reversed arms, like a couple of 
privates at a royal funeral. 

The dogs suddenly came to a dead stop, and the party ad- 
vancing stealthily a single pace, stopped too. 

“AV hat’s the matter with the dogs’ legs ?” whispered Mr. 
Winkle. “ How queer they’re standing.” 

“Hush, can’t you?” replied Wardle, softly. “Don’t you 
see they’re making a point ?” 

“Making a point!” said Mr. Winkle, staring about him, as 
if he e.xpected to discover some particular beauty in the land- 
scape, which the sagacious animals were calling special atten - 
tion to. “Making a point! AVhat are they pointing at?” 

“Keep your eyes open,” said Wardle, not heeding the ques- 
tion in the excitement of the moment. “Now then.” 

There was a sharp whirring noise, that made Mr. AVinkle start 
back as if he had been shot himself. B«ng, bang, went a couple 
of guns;-— tlie smoke s\vept quickly away, over the field, and 
curled into the air. 

“ AVhere are they ?” said Mr. Winkle, in a state of the highest 
excitement, turning round and round in all directions. “ AVhere 
are they ? Tell me when to fire. Where are they — where are 
they?” 

“ AVhere are they I” said Wardle, taking up a brace of biids 
which the dogs had deposited at his feet. “Where are they! 
AVliy, here they are.” 

“ No, no; I mean the others,” said the bewildered AATnkle. 

“ Far enough off, by this time,” replied AVardle, coolly reload- 
ing his gun. 

“AVe shall very likely be up with another covey in five 
minutes,” said the long gamekeeper. “ If the gentleman begins 
to fire now, perhaps he’ll just get the shot out of the barrel by 
the time they rise.” 


288 


THE PICKWICK PAPEES. 


“Hal ha I ha!” roared Mr. Weller. 

“ Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, compassionating his follower’s 
confusion and embarrassment. 

^‘Sir.” 

“ Don’t laugh.” 

“Certainly not, Sir.” So, byway of indemnification, Mr. 
Weller contorted bis features from behind the wheelbarrow, 
for the exclusive amusement of the boy with the leggings, who 
thereupon burst into a boisterous laugh, and was summarily 
cuffed by the long gamekeeper, who wanted a pretext for turn- 
ing round, to hide his own merriment. 

“Bravo, old fellow I” said Wardle to Mr. Tupman; “you 
fired that time, at all events.” 

^“Oh, yes,” replied Mr. Tupman, with conscious pride. “I 
let it off.” 

“Well done. You’ll hit something next time, if you look 
sharp. Yery easy, ain’t it ?” 

“ Yes, it’s very easy,” said Mr. Tupman. “ How it hurts 
one’s shoulder, though. It nearly knocked me backwards. I 
had no idea these small fire-arms kicked so.” 

“Ah,” said the old gentleman, smiling; “you’ll get used 
to it, in time. Now, then — all ready — all right with the barrow 
there ?” 

“All right, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“ Come along then.” 

“ Hold hard. Sir,” said Sam, raising the barrow. 

“Ay, ay,” replied Mr. Pickwick; and on they went, as 
briskly as need be. 

“Keep that barrow back now,” cried Wardle, when it had 
been hoisted -over a stile into another field, and Mr. Pickwick 
had been deposited in it once more. 

“All right, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller, pausing. 

“Now, Winkle,” said the old gentleman, “follow me softly, 
and don’t be too late this time.” 

“Never fear,” said Mr. Winkle. “Are they pointing?” 

. “No, no; not now. Quietly now, quietly.” On they crept, 
and very quietly they would have advanced, if Mr. Winkle, in 
the performance of some very intricate evolutions with his gun, 
had not accidentally fired, at the most critical moment, over the 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


289 


boy’s head, exactly in the very spot where the tall man’s brain 
would have been, had he been there instead. 

“ Why, what on earth did yon do that for ?” said old Wardle, 
as the birds flew unharmed away. 

“ I never saw such a gun in my life,” replied poor Winkle, 
looking at the lock, as if that would do any good. “It goes 
off, of its own accord. It will do it.” < 

“ Will do it I” echoed Wardle, with something of irritation 
in his manner. “I wish it would kill something of its own 
accord.” 

“ It’ll do that afore long. Sir,” observed the tall man, in a 
low, prophetic voice. 

“What do you mean by that observation. Sir?” inquired 
Mr. Winkle, angrily. 

“Never mind. Sir — never mind,” replied the long game- 
keeper; — “I’ve no family myself. Sir; and this here boy’s 
mother will get something handsome from Sir Geoffrey, if he’s 
killed on his land. Load again, Sir — load again.” 

“Take away his gun,” cried Mr. Pickwick from the barrow, 
horror-stricken at the long man’s dark insinuations. “ Take 
away his gun, do you hear, somebody ?” 

Nobody, however, volunteered to obey the command; and 
Mr. Winkle after darting a rebellious glance at Mr. Pickwick, 
reloaded his gun, and proceeded onwards with the rest. 

We are bound, on the authority of Mr. Pickwick, to state, 
that Mr. Tupman’s mode of proceeding evinced far more of 
prudence and deliberation, than that adopted by Mr. Winkle. 
Still, this by no means detracts from the great authority of the 
latter gentleman, on all matters connected with the field; be-^ 
cause as Mr. Pickwick beautifully observes, it has somehow op 
other happened, from time immemorial, that many of the best 
and ablest philosophers, who have been perfect lights of science 
in matters of theory, have been wholly unable to reduce them 
lo pr^ictice. 

Air. Tupman’s process, like many of our most sublime dis- 
coveries, was extremely simple. With the quickness and pene- 
tration of a man of genius, he had at once observed that the 
two great points to be attained were — first, to discharge his 
piece without injury to himself, and, secondly, to do so without 
19 


290 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


danger to the bystanders ; — obviously, the best thing to do, 
after surmounting the difficulty of firing at all, was to shut his 
eyes firmly, and fire into the air. 

On one occasion, after performing this feat, Mr. Tupman, on 
opening his eyes, beheld a plump partridge in the very act of 
falling wounded to the ground. He was just on the point of 
congratulating Wardle on his invariable success, when that 
gentleman advanced towards him, and grasped him warmly by 
the hand. 

“ Tupman,” said the old gentleman, “you singled out that 
particular bird 

“No,” said Mr. Tupman — “no.” 

“You did,” said Wardle. “I saw you do it — I observed 
you pick him out — I noticed you as you raised your piece to 
take aim ; and I will say this, that the best shot in existence 
could not have done it more beautifully. You are an older 
aand at this, than I thought you, Tupman ; — you have been 
out before.” 

It was in vain for Mr. Tupman to protest, with a smile of 
self-denial, that he never had. The very smile was taken as 
evidence to the contrary ; and from that time forth, his reputa- 
tion was established. It is not the only reputation that has been 
acquired as easily, nor are such fortunate circumstances con- 
fined to partridge-shooting. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Winkle flashed, and blazed, and smoked 
away, without producing any material results worthy of being 
noted down; sometimes expending his charge in mid-air, and 
at others sending it skimming along so near the surface of the 
ground, as to place the lives of the two dogs on a rather un- 
certain and precarious tenure. As a display of fancy-shooting, 
it was extremely varied and curious ; as an exhibition of firing 
w'ith any precise object, it was, upon ihe whole, perhaps a 
failure. It is an established axiom, that “every bullet has its 
billet.” If it apply in an equal degree to shots, those of Mr. 
Winkle were unfortunate foundlings, deprived of their natural 
rights, cast loose upon the world, and billeted nowhere. 

“Weil,” said Wardle, walking up to the side of the baiTOw, 
and wiping the streams of perspiration from his jolly red face ; 
“ smoking day, isn’t it 


291 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS.^ 

“ It is indeed,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “ The sun is tremen- 
dously hot, even to me. I don’t know how you mast feel it.” 

“ Why,” said the old gentleman, “ pretty hot. “ It’s past 
twelve, though. You see that green hill there ?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ That’s the place where we are to lunch ; and, by Jove, there’s 
t ip boy with tlie basket, punctual as clock-work.” 

“ So he is,” said Mr. Pickwick, brightening up. “ Good boy, 
that. I’ll give him a shilling, presently. Now, then, Sam, 
wheel away. 

“Hold on. Sir,” said Mr. Weller, invigorated with the pros- 
pect of refreshments. “ Out of the vay, young leathers. If 
you walley my precious life don’t upset me, as the gen’l’rnan 
said to. the driver, when they was a carryiu’ him to Tyburn.” 
And, quickening his pace to a sharp run, Mr. Weller wheeled 
his master to the green hill, shot him dexterously out by the 
very side of the basket, and proceeded to unpack it with the 
utmost despatch. 

“Weal pie,” said Mr. Weller, soliloquising, as he arranged 
the eatables on the grass. “ Wery good thing is a weal pie, 
when you know the lady as made it, and is quite sure it ain’t 
kittens ; and arter all though, where’s the odds, when they’re so 
like weal that the wery piemen themselves don’t know the dif- 
ference. 

“ Don’t they, Sam ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Not they. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller, touching his hat. “J 
lodged in the same house vith a pieman once, Sir, and a wery 
nice man he was — reg’lar clever chap, too — make pies out o’ 
any thing, he could. ‘ What a number o’ cats you keep, Mr. 
Brooks,’ says I, when I’d got intimate with him. ‘Ah,’ says 
he, ‘ I do — a good many,’ says he. ‘ You must be wery fond o’ 
cats,’ says I. ‘ Other people is,’ says he, a winkin’ at me ; ‘they 
ain’t in season till the* winter though,’ says he. ‘ Not in season I’ 
says I. ‘No,’ says he. ‘fruits is in, cats is out.’ ‘Why, what 
do you mean ?’ says I. ‘ Mean ?’ says he. ‘ That I’ll never be 
a party to the combination o’ the butchers, to keep up the 
prices o’ meat,’ says he. ‘ Mr. Weller,’ says he, squeezing my 
hand wery hard, and vispering in my ear — ‘ don’t mention this 
here agin, but it’s the seasonin’ as does it. They’re all made o’ 


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JHE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


them ncble animals,’ says he, a pointin’ to a wery nice little 
tabby kitten, ‘ and I seasons ’em for beef-steak, weal, or kidney, 
’cordin’ to the demand; and more than that,’ says he, ‘I can 
make a weal a beef-steak, or a beef-steak a kidney, or any one on 
’em a mutton, at a minute’s notice, just as the market changes, 
and appetites wary I’ ” 

“ He must have been a very ingenious young man, that, Sam,” 
said Mr. Pickwick, with a slight shudder. 

“Just was. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller, continuing his occupa- 
tion of emptying the basket, “and the pies was beautiful. 
Tongue ; well that’s a wery good thing, when it ain’t a woman’s. 
Bread — knuckle o’ ham, reg’lar picter — cold beef in slices wery 
g«od. What’s in them stone jars, young touch-and-go!” 

“l3eer in this one,” replied the boy, taking from his shoulder 
a couple of large stone bottles, fastened together by a leathern 
strap — “cold punch in t’other.” 

“ And a wery good notion of a lunch it is, take it altogether,” 
said Mr. Weller, surveying his arrangement of the repast with 
great satisfaction. “ Now, gen’l’men, ‘ fall on,’ as the English 
said to the F'reiich when they fixed bagginets.” 

It needed no second invitation to induce the party to yield 
fell justice to the meal ; and as little pressing did it require, to 
induce Mr. Weller, the long gamekeeper, and the two boys, to 
station themselves on the grass at a little distance, and do 
good execution upon a decent proportion of the viands. An 
old oak-tree afforded a pleasant shelter to the group, and a rich 
prospect of arable and meadow-land, intersected with luxuriant 
hedges, and richly ornamented with wood, lay spread out below 
them. 

“This is delightful — thoroughly delightful I” said Mr. Pick- 
wick, the skin of whose expressive countenance was rapidly 
peeling off, with exposure to the sun. 

“ So it is — so it is, old fellow, replied Wardle “Come ; a 
glass of punch.” 

“With great pleasure,” said Mr. Pickwick ; and the satis- 
faction of his countenance after drinking it, bore testimony to 
the sincerity of the reply. 

“Good,” said Mr. Pickwick, smacking his lips. “"Very 
good. I’ll take another. Cool ; very cool. Come, gentlemen,” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


293 


continued Mr. Pickwick, still retaining his hold upon the jar, 
“a toast. Our friends at Dingley Dell.” 

The toast was drunk with loud acclamations. 

“I’ll tell you what I shall do, to get up my shooting again,” 
said Mr. Winkle, who was eating bread and ham with a pocket 
knife, “ I’ll put a stuffed partridge on the top of a post, and 
practise at it, beginning at a short distance, and lengthening it 
by degrees. I understand it’s a capital practice. 

“ I know a gen’l’man. Sir,” said Mr. Weller, “ as did that, 
and begun at two yards ; but he never tried it on agin ; for he 
bio wed the bird right clean away at the first fire, and nobody 
ever seed a feather on him arterwards.” 

“ Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“Have the goodness to reserve your anecdotes, till they are 
called for.” 

“Cert’nly, Sir.” 

Here Mr. Weller winked the eye which was not concealed 
by the beer-can he was raising to his lips, with such exquisite 
facetiousness, that the two boys went into spontaneous convul- 
sions, and even the long man condescended to smile. 

“Well, that certainly is most capital cold punch,” said Mr. 
Pickwick, looking earnestly at the stone bottle; “and the 
day is extremely warm, and — Tupman, my dear friend, a glass 
of punch ?” 

“ With the greatest delight,” replied Mr. Tupman ; and 
having drunk that glass, Mr. Pickwick took another, just to 
see whether there was any orange-peel in the punch, because 
orange-peel always disagreed with him ; and finding that there 
was not, Mr. Pickwick took another glass to the health of their 
absent friend, and then felt himself imperatively called upon 
to propose another in honor of the punch-compounder, un- 
known 

This constant succession of glasses produced considerable 
effect upon Mr. Pickwick ; his countenance beamed with the 
most sunny smiles, laughter played around his lips, and good- 
humored merriment twinkled in his eye. Yielding by degrees 
to the influence of the exciting liquid, rendered more so by the 
heat, Mr. ‘Pickwick expressed a strong desire to recollect a 


294 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


song which he had heard in his infancy, and the attempt proving 
abortive, sought to stimulate his memory with more glasses of 
punch, which appeared to have quite a contrary effect ; for, 
from forgetting the words of the song, he began to forget how 
to articulate any words at all ; and finally, after rising to his 
legs to address the company in an eloquent speech, he fell inio 
the barrow, and fast asleep, simultaneously. 

The basket having been repacked, and it being found per- 
fectly impossible to awaken Mr. Pickwick from his torpor, 
some discussion took place whether it would be better for Mr. 
Weller to wheel his master back again, or to leave him where 
he was, until they should all be ready to return. The latter 
course was at length decided on ; and as their further expedi- 
tion was not to exceed an hour’s duration, and as Mr. Weller 
begged very hard to be one of the party, it was determined to 
leave Mr. Pickwick asleep in the barrow, and to call for him 
on their return. So away they went, leaving Mr. Pickwick 
snoring most comfortably in the shade. 

That Mr. Pickwick would have continued to snore in the 
shade until his friends came back, or in default thereof, until 
the shades of evening had fallen on the landscape, there appears 
no reasonable cause to doubt; always supposing that he had 
been suffered to remain there, in peace. But he was not suf- 
fered to remain there in peace. And this is what prevented 
him. 

Captain Boldwig was a little fierce man in a stiff black 
neckerchief and blue surtout, who, when he did condescend to 
walk about his property, did it in company with a thick rattan 
stick with a brass ferrule, and a gardener and sub-gardener with 
meek faces, to whom (the gardeners, not the stick) Captain 
Boldwig gave his orders with all due grandeur and ferocity ; 
for Captain Boldwig’s wife’s sister had married a marquis, and 
the Captain’s house was a villa, and his land “grounds,” and 
it was all very high, and mighty, and great. 

Mr. Pickwick had not been asleep half an hour, when little 
Oai>taiu Boldwig, followed by the two gardeners, came striding 
along as fast as his size and importance would let him ; and 
when he came near the oak-tree. Captain Boldwig paused, and 
drew a long breath, and looked at the prospect, as if he thought 


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296 


the prospect ought to be highly gratified at having him to take 
notice of it ; and then he struck the ground emphatically with 
his stick, and summoned the head-gardener. 

“ Hunt,” said Captain Bold wig. 

“ Yes, Sir,” said the gardener. 

“ Roll this place to-morrow morning — do you hear, Hunt 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“ And take care that you keep me this place in good order- 
do you hear. Hunt ?” * 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“ And remind me to have a board done about "trespassers, 
and spring-guns, and all that sort of thing, to keep the common 
people out. Do you hear. Hunt ; do you hear ?” 

“ I’ll not forget it. Sir.” 

“ I beg your pardon. Sir,” said the other man, advancing, 
with his hand to his hat. 

“ Well, Wilkins, what’s the matter with you ?” said Captain 
Boldwig. 

“ I beg your pardon. Sir — ^but I think there have been tres- 
passers here to-day.” 

“ Ha I” said the Captain, scowling around him. 

“ Yes, Sir, — ^they have been dining here, I think. Sir.” 

“Why, damn their audacity, so they have,” said Captain 
Boldwig, as the crumbs and fragments that were strewn upon the 
grass, met his eye. “They have actually been devouring their 
food here. I wish I had the vagabonds here I” said the Cap- 
tain clenching the thick stick. 

“ I wish I had the vagabonds here,” said the Captain, wrath- 
fully. 

“ Beg your pardon. Sir,” said Wilkins, “but — ” 

“ But what ? Eh ?” roared the Captain ; and following the 
timid glance of Wilkins, his eyes encountered the wheelbarrow 
and Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Who are you, you rascal ?” said the Captain, administering 
several pokes to Mr. Pickwick’s body with the thick stick. 
“ What’s your name ?” 

“ Cold punch,” murmured Mr. Pickwick, as he sunk to sleep 
again. 

“ What ?” demanded Captain Boldwig. 


296 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


No reply. 

“ What did he say his name was ?” asked the Captaia. 

Punch, I think, Sir,” replied Wilkins. 

“That’s his impudence — that’s his confounded impudence,” 
said Captain Boldwig. “ He’s only feigning to be asleep now,” 
said the Captain, in a high passion. “ He’s drunk ; he’s a 
drunken plebeian. Wheel him away, Wilkins, wheel him away 
directly.” 

“Where shall I wheel him to, Sir?” inquired Wilkins; with 
great timidity. 

“ Wheel him to the Devil,” replied Captain Boldwig. 

“ Very well, Sir,” said Wilkins. 

“ Stay,” said the Captain. 

AVilkins stopped accordingly. 

“Wheel him,” said the Captain, “wheel him to the pound; 
and let us see whether he calls himself Punch, when he comes to 
himself. He shall not bully me — he shall not bully me. Wheel 
him away.” 

Away Mr. Pickwick was wheeled in compliance with this im- 
perious mandate ; and the great Captain Boldwig, swelling with 
indignation, proceeded on his walk. 

Inexpressible was the astonishment of the little party when 
they returned, to find that Mr. Pickwick had disappeared, and 
taken the wheelbarrow with him. It was the most mysterious 
and unaccountable thing that was ever heard of. For a lame 
man to have got upon his legs without any previous notice, and 
walked off, would have been most extraordinary; but when it 
came to his wheeling a heavy barrow before him, by way of 
amusement, it grew positively miraculous. They searched every 
nook and corner round together and separately : they shouted, 
whistled, lauglied, called — and all with the same result. Mr. 
Pickwick was not to be found ; and after some hours of fruitless 
search, tliey arrived at the unwelcome conclusion, that they must 
go home without him. 

Aleanwhile Mr. Pickwick had been wheeled to the pound, 
and safely deposited therein, fast asleep in the wheelbarrow, to 
the immeasurable delight and satisfaction, not only of all the 
boys in the village, but three-fourths of the whole population, 
who had gathered round in expectation of his waking. If their 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


297 


most intense gratification had been awakened by seeing him 
wheeled in, how many hundred-fold was their joy increased 
when, after a few indistinct cries of “ Sam I” he sat up in the 
barrow, and gazed with indescribable astonishment on the fares 
before him. 

A general shout was of course the signal of his havinsr woke 
ip ; and his involuntary inquiry of “ What’s the matter ?” occa 
sioned another, louder than the first, if possible. 

Here’s a game,” roared the populace. 

“Where am I ?” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. . 

“In the pound,” replied the mob. 

“ How came I here ? What was I doing ? Where was I 
brought from ?” 

“Boldwig — Captain Boldwig,” was the only reply. 

“ Let me out,” cried Mr. Pickwick. “ Where’s my servant ? 
Where are my friends ?” 

“You ain’t got no friends. Hurrah I” And then there 
came a turnip, and then a potato, and then an egg, with a 
few other little tokens of the playful disposition of the many- 
headed. 

How long this scene might have lasted, or how much Mr. 
Pickwick might have suffered, no one can tell, had not a car- 
riage which was driving swiftly by, suddenly pulled up, from 
whence there descended old Wardle and Sam Weller, the for- 
mer of whom, in far less time than it takes to write it, if not to 
read it, had made his way to Mr. Pickwick’s side, and placed 
him in the vehicle, just as the latter had concluded the third 
and last round of a single combat with the town-beadle. 

“ Run to the Justice’s,” cried a dozen voices. 

“ Ah, run avay,” said Mr. Weller, jumping up on the box. 
“Give my compliments — Mr. Teller’s compliments — to the 
Justice, ani tell him I’ve spoiled his beadle, and that if he’ll 
svear in a new ’un, I’ll come back again to-morrow and spoil 
him. Drive on, old feller.” 

“ I’ll give directions for the commencement of an action for 
false imprisonment against this Captain Boldwig, directly I get 
to London,” said Mr. Pickwick, as soon as the carriage turned 
out of the town. 

“We were trespassing, it seems,” said Wardle. 


298 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** I don’t care,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ I’ll bring the action.’’ 

“ No, you won’t,” said Wardle. 

I will by — ” but as there was a humorous expression in 
Warale’s face, Mr. Pickwick checked himself, and said — “ Why 
not ?” 

“ Because,” said old Wardle, half bursting with laughter, 
because they might turn round on some of us, and say we had 
taken too much cold punch.” 

Do what he would, a smile would come into Mr. Pickwick’s 
face ; the smile extended into a laugh, the laugh into a roar, 
and the roarjaecame general. So, to keep up their good- 
humor, they stopped at the first road-side tavern they came to, 
and ordered a glass of brandy and water all rouud, with a 
magnum of extra strength, for Mr. Samuel Weller. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


<■/ 





SHOWING HOW DODSON AND FOGG WERE MEN OF BUSINESS, AND 
THEIR CLERKS MEN OF PLEASURE ; AND HOW AN AFFECTING 
INTERVIEW TOOK PLACE BETWEEN MR. WELLER AND HIS 
LONG-LOST parent; SHOWING ALSO, WHAT CHOICE SPIRITS 
ASSEMBLED AT THE MAGPIE AND STUMP, AND WHAT A CAPI- 
TAL CHAPTER THE NEXT ONE WILL BE. .{ff- 

In tlie ground-floor front of a dingy house, at the very 
furthest end of Freeman’s Court, Cornhill, sat the four clerks 
of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg,*two of his Majesty’s Attorneys 
of the Courts of King’s Bench and Common Pleas at West- 
minster, and solicitors of the High Court of Chancery : the 
aforesaid clerks catching about as favorable glimpses of 
Heaven’s light and Heaven’s sun, in the course of their daily 
labors, as a man might hope to do, were he placed at the bot- 
tom of a reasonably deep well ; and without the opportunity of 
perceiving the stars in the day-time, which the latter secluded 
situation affords. 

The clerk’s office of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg was a dark, 
mouldy, earth-smelling room, with a high wainscoted partition 
to screen the clerks from the vulgar gaze : a cou})le of old 
wooden chairs, a very loud-ticking clock, an almanac, an 
umbrelUv-stand, a row of hat-pegs, and a few shelves, on which 
were deposited several ticketed bundles of dirty papers, some 
old deal boxes, with paper labels, and sundry decayed stone 
ink bottles of various shapes and sizes. There was a glass 
door leading into the passage which formed the entrance to the 
court, and on the outer side of this glass door, Mr. Pickwick, 
closely followed by Sam Weller, presented himself on the Fri- 
ilay morning succeeding the occurrence, of which a faithful 
narralion is gi^en in the last chapter. 

“ Come in, can’t you,” cried a voice from behind the parti- 
tion, in rei)ly to Mr. Pickwick’s gentle tap at the door. And 
Mr. Pickwick and Sam entered accordingly. 


C299) 


soo 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ Ml*. Dodson or Mr. Fogg at home, Sir inquired Mr. 
Pickwick, gently, advancing, hat in hand, towards the partition. 

“ Mr. Dodson ain’t at home, and Mr. Fogg’s particularly 
engaged,” replied the voice ; and at the same time the head to 
which the voice belonged, with a pen behind its ear, looked 
over the partition, and at Mr. Pickwick. 

It was a ragged head, the sandy hair of which, scrupulously 
parted on one side, and flattened down with pomatum, was 
twisted into little semi-circular tails round a flat face orna- 
mented with a pair of small eyes, and garnished with a very 
dirty shirt-collar, and a rusty black stock. 

“ Mr. Dodson ain’t at home, and Mr. Fogg’s particularly 
engaged,” said the man to whom the head belonged. 

“ When will Mr. Dodson be back, Sir ?” inquired Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“ Can’t say.” 

Will it be long before Mr. Fogg is disengaged. Sir ?” 

“ Don’t know.” 

Here the man proceeded to mend his pen with great delibe- 
ration, while another clerk, who was mixing a seidlitz-powder 
under cover of the lid of the desk, laughed approvingly. 

“ I think I’ll wait,” said Mr. Pickwick. There was no 
reply ; so Mr. Pickwick sat down unbidden, and listened to 
the loud ticking of the clock, and the murmured conversation 
of the clerks. 

“ That was a game, wasn’t it ?” said one of the gentlemen, 
in a brown coat and brass buttons, inky drabs, and bluchers, at 
the conclusion of some inaudible relation of his previous even- 
ing’s adventures. 

“ Devilish good — devilish good,” said the seidlitz-powder 
man. 

“ Tom Cummins was in the chair,” said the man with the 
brown coat ; it was half-past four when I got to Somers Town, 
and then I was so precious drunk, that I couldn’t find the i)lace 
where the latch-key went in, and was obliged to knock up the 
old ’ooman. I say, I wonder what old. Fogg ’ud say, if he 
knew it. I should get the sack, I s’pose — eh ?” 

At this humorous notion, all the clerks laughed in concert. 

<< There vas such a game with Fogg here, this mornin.” said 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


801 


the man in the brown coat, “ while J ack was up-stairs, sorting 
the papers, and you two were gone to the stamp-office. Fogg 
was down here opening the letters, when that chap as we issued 
the writ against in Camberwell, you know, came in — what’s 
his name again ?” 

“ Ramsey,” said the clerk who had spoken to Mr. Pickwick. 

‘^Ah, Ramsey — a precious seedy-looking customer. ‘Well, 
Sir,’ says old Fogg, looking at him very fierce — you know his 
way — ‘ well. Sir, have you come to settle ?’ ‘ Yes, I have. Sir, 

said Ramsey, putting his hand in his pocket, and bringing out 
the money, ‘ the debt’s two pound ten, and the costs three pound 
five, and here it is. Sir;’ and he sighed like bricks, as he lugged 
out the money, done up in a bit of blotting-paper. Old Fogg 
looked first at the money, and then at him, and then he coughed 
in his rum way, so that I knew something was coming. ‘ You 
don’t know there’s a declaration filed, which increases the costs 
materially, I suppose?’ said Fogg. ‘You don’t say that. Sir,’ 
said Ramsey, starting back; ‘the time was only out last night, 
Sir.’ ‘I do say it though,’ said Fogg, ‘my clerk’s just gone to 
file it. Hasn’t Mr. Jackson gone to file that declaration in 
Rullraan and Ramsey, Mr. Wicks ?’ Of course I said yes, 
and then Fogg coughed again, and looked at Ramsey. ‘ My 
God ?’ said Ramsey ; ‘ and here have I nearly driven myself 
mad, scraping this money together, and all to no purpose.’ 
‘None at all,’ said Fogg, coolly; ‘so you had better go back 
and scrape some more together, and bring it here in time.’ ‘I 
can’t get it, by God,’ said Ramsey, striking the desk with his 
fist. ‘ Don’t bully me. Sir,’ said Foggr, getting into a passion 
on purpose. ‘I am not bullying you. Sir,’ said Ramsey. ‘You 
are,’ said Fogg; ‘get out. Sir; get out of this office. Sir, and 
come back. Sir, when you know how to behave yourself.’ Well, 
Rara.sey tried to speak, but Fogg wouldn’t let him, so he put the 
money in his pocket, and sneaked out. The door was scarcely 
shut when old Fogg turned round to me, with a sweet smile on 
bis face, and drew the declaration out of his coat-pocket. ‘Here, 
Wicks,’ says Fogg, ‘take a cab, and go down to the Temple 
aa quick as you can, and file that. The costs are quite safe, 
for he’s a steady man with a large family, at a salary of five-and- 
tweuty shillings a veek, and if he gives us a warrant of attorney, 


802 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


as he mnst in the end, I know his employers will see it paid ; so 
we may as well get all we can out of him, Mr. Wicks ; it’s a 
Christian act to do it, Mr. Wicks, for with his large family and 
small income, he’ll be all the better for a good lesson against 
getting into debt, — won’t he, Mr. Wicks, won’t he ?’ — and he 
smiled so good-naturedly as he went away, that it was delightful 
to see him. He is a capital man of business,” said Wicks in a 
tone of the deepest admiration, “capital, isn’t he?” 

The other three cordially subscribed to this opinion, and 
the anecdote afforded the most unlimited satisfaction. 

•‘Nice men these here. Sir,” whispered Mr. Weller to his 
master ; “ wery nice notion of fun they has, Sir.” 

Mr. Pickwick nodded assent, and coughed to attract the 
attention of the young gentlemen behind the partition, who, 
having now relaxed their minds by a little conversation among 
themselves, condescended to take some notice of the stranger. 

“I wonder whether Fogg’s disengaged now?” said Jackson. 

“I’ll see,” said Wicks, dismounting leisurely from his stool. 
“What name shall I tell Mr. Fogg?” 

“Pickwick,” replied the illustrious subject of these memoirs. 

Mr. Jackson departed up stairs on his errand, and immediately 
returned with a message that Mr. Fogg would see Mr. Pick- 
wick in five minutes ; and having delivered it, returned again 
to his desk. 

“ What did he say his name was ?” whispered Wicks. 

“Pickwick,” replied Jackson; “it’s the defendant in Bardell 
and Pickwick.” 

A sudden scraping of feet, mingled with the sound of sup 
pressed laughter, was heard from behind the partition. 

“They’re a twiggin’ you. Sir,” whispered Mr. Weller. 

“Twigging me, Sami” replied Mr. Pickwick; “what do you 
mean by twigging me ?” 

Mr. Weller replied by pointing with his thumb over his 
shoulder: and Mr. Pickwick, on looking up, became sensible 
of the pleasing fact, that all the four clerks, with countenances 
expressive of the utmost amusement, and their heads thrust 
over the wooden screen, were minutely inspecting the figure 
and general appearance of the supposed trifler with female 
hearts, and disturber of female happiness. On his looking up. 


• THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 803 

the row of heads suddenly disappeared, and the sound of pens 
graveling at a furious rate over paper immediately simceedei 

A sudden ring at the bell which hung in the office, sum- 
moned Mr. Jackson to the apartment, of Fogg, from whence he 
came back to say that he (Fogg) was ready to see Mr. Pick- 
wick if he would step up stairs. 

Up stairs Mr. Pickwick did step accordingly, leaving Sam 
Weller below. The room door of the one-pair back, bore, 
inscribed in legible characters, the imposing words “Mr. Fogg;’’ 
and, having tapped thereat, and been desired to come in, Jack- 
son ushered Mr. Pickwick into the presence. 

“ Is Mr. Dodson in ?” inquired Mr. Fogg. 

“ Just come in. Sir,” replied Jackson. 

“Ask him to step here.” 

“Yes, Sir.” Exit Jackson. 

“Take a seat. Sir,” said Fogg; “there is the paper. Sir: 
my partner will be here directly, and we can converse about 
this matter. Sir.” 

Mr. Pickwick took a seat and the paper, but instead of read- 
ing the latter, peeped over the top of it, and took a survey of 
the man of business, who was an elderly, pimply-faced, vegeta- 
ble-diet sort of man, in a black coat, dark mixture trousers, 
and small black gaiters ; a kind of being who seemed to be an 
essential part of the desk at which he was writing, and to have 
about as much thought or feeling. 

“ After a few minutes’ silence, Mr. Dodson, a plump, port- 
ly, stern-looking man, with a loud voice, appeared : and the 
conversation commenced. 

“ This is Mr. Pickwick,” said Fogg. 

“Ah I You are the defendant. Sir, in Bardell and Pick 
wick ?” said Dodson. 

“ I am. Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“Well, Sir,” said Dodson, “and what do you propose ?” 

“Ah I” said Fogg, thrusting his hands into his trousers 
pockets, and throwing himself back in his chair, “ what do you 
propose, Mr. Pickwick ?” 

“ Hush, Fogg,” said Dodson, “let me hear what Mr. Pick- 
wick has to say ?” 

“I came, gentlemen,” replied Mr. Pickwick, — gazing pla- 


804 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. ' 


cidly on the two partners, — “ I came here, gentlemen, to ex- 
press the surprise with which I received your letter of the other 
daj, and to inquire what grounds of action you^an have against 
me.’’ • 

“ Grounds of” — Fogg had ejaculated thus much, when he 
was stopped by Dodson. 

Mr. Fogg,” said Dodson, “ I am going to speak.” 

I beg your pardon, Mr. Dodson,” said Fogg. 

“ For the grounds of action. Sir,” continued Dodson, with mo- 
ral elevation in his air, “you will consult your own conscience 
and your own feelings. We, Sir, we are guided entirely by 
the statement of our client. That statement. Sir, may be true, 
or it may be false ; it may be credible, or it may be incredible ; 
but, if it be true, and if it be credible, I do not hesitate to say, 
Sir, that our grounds of action. Sir, are strong, and not to be 
shaken. You may be an unfbrtunate man. Sir, or you may be 
a designing one ; but if I were called upon as a juryman upon 
my oath. Sir, to express an opinion of your conduct, Sir, I do 
not hesitate to assert that I should have but one opinion about 
it.” Here Dodson drew himself up, with an air of offended 
virtue, and looked at Fogg, who thrust his hands further in his 
pockets, and, nodding his head sagely, said, in a tone of the 
fullest concurrence, “ Most certainly.” 

“ Well, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, with considerable pain de- 
picted in his countenance, “ you will permit me to assure yon, 
that I am a most unfortunate man, so far as this case is con- 
cerned. ” 

“ I hope you are. Sir,” replied Dodson ; “ I trust you may 
be. Sir. If you are really innocent of what is laid to your 
charge, you are more unfortunate that I had believed any man 
Rould possibly be. What do you say, Mr. Fogg ?” 

“ I say precisely what you say,” replied Fogg, with a smile 
of incredulity. 

“The writ. Sir, which commences the action,” continued 
Dodson, “ was issued regularly. Mr. Fogg, where is the pro?- 
cipe book ?” 

“ Here it is,” said Fogg, handing over a square book, with 
a parchmejit cover. 

“ Here is the entry,” resumed Dodson. “ ‘ Middlesex, Capias 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


305 


Martha Bardell, widow, v. Samuel Pickwick. Damaprea, 
£1500. Dodson and Fogg for the plaintilf. Aug. 28, 1827.’ 
All regular, Sir, 'perfectly.” And Dodson coughed and looked 
at Fogg, who said, “ Perfectly,” also. And then they both 
looked at Mr. Pickwick.. 

“ I am to understand, then,” said Mr. Pickwick, " that it 
really is your intention to proceed with this action.” 

“ Understand, Sir ! — that you certainly may,” replied Dod- 
son, with something as near a smile as his importance would 
allow. 

“ And that the damages are actually laid at fifteen hundred 
pounds ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ To which understanding you may add my assurance, that 
if we could have prevailed upon our client, they would have 
been laid at treble the amount. Sir replied Dodson. 

“ I believe Mrs. Bardell specially said, however,” observed 
Fogg, glancing at Dodson, “ that she would not compromise 
for a farthing less.” 

“ Unquestionably,” replied Dodson, sternly. For the action 
was only just begun, and it wouldn^t have done to let Mr. Pick- 
wick compromise it then, even if he had been so disposed. 

“As you offer no terms. Sir,” said Dodson, displaying a 
slip of parchment in his right hand, and affectionately pressing 
a paper copy of it on Mr. Pickwick with his left, “ I had better 
serve you with a copy of this writ. Sir. Here is the original. 
Sir.” 

“ Yery well, gentlemen, very well,” said Mr. Pickwick, rising 
in person and wrath at the same time ; “ you shall hear from my 
solicitor, gentlemen.” 

“We shall be very happy to do so,” said Fogg, rubbing his 
nands. 

“ Very,” said Dodson, opening the door. 

“And before I go, gentlemen,” said the excited Mr. Pick- 
wick, turning round on the landing, “ permit me to say, that of 
all the disgraceful and rascally proceedings — ” 

“Stay, Sir, stay,” interposed Dodson with great politeness. 
“Mr. Jackson — Mr. Wicks.” 

“ Sir,” said the two clerks, appearing at the bottom of the 

stairs. 


20 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


m 

“ I just want you to hear wbat this gentleman says,’^ replied 
Dodson. “Pray, go on, Sir — disgraceful and rascally proceed- 
ings, I think you said.” 

“ I did,” said Mr. Pickwick, thoroughly roused. “ I said, 
Sir, that of all the disgraceful and rascally proceedings that evci 
were attempted, this is the most so. I repeat it. Sir. ” 

“ You hear that, Mr. Wicks ?” said Dodson. 

“You won’t forget these expressions, Mr. Jackson?” said 

Fogg- \ 

“ Perhaps you would like to call us swindlers, Sir,” said Dod- 
son. “Pray do. Sir, if you feel disposed — now pray do. Sir.” 

“ I do,” said Mr. Pickwick. “You are swindlers.” 

“Very good,” said Dodson. “You can hear down there, 1 
hope, Mr. Wicks.” 

“ Oh yes, Sir,” said Wicks. 

“ You had better come up a step or two higher, if you can’t,” 
added Mr. Fogg. 

“ Go on, Sir ; do go on. You had better call us thieves. 
Sir; or perhaps you would like to assault one of us. Pray do 
it. Sir, if you would ; we will not make the smallest resistance. 
Pray do it, Sir.” 

As Fogg put himself very temptingly within the reach of Mr 
Pickwick’s clenched fist, there is little doubt that that gentle- 
man would have complied with his earnest entreaty, but for the 
interposition of Sam, who, hearing the dispute, emerged from 
the office, mounted the stairs, , and seized his master by the arm. 

“ You just come avay,” said Mr. Weller. “Battledore and 
shuttlecock’s a wery good game, when you ain’t the shuttle- 
cock and two lawyers the battledores, in which case it gets too 
excitin’ to be pleasant. Come avay, Sir. If you want to ease 
your mind by blowing up somebody, come out into the court and 
blow up me ; but it’s rayther too expensive work to be carried 
on here.” 

And without the slightest ceremony, Mr. Weller hauled Ijiji 
master down the stairs, and down the court, and having safelv 
deposited him in Cornhill, fell behind, prepared to follow whith- 
ersoever he should lead. 

Mr. Pickwick walked on abstractedly, crossed oi)posite the 
Mansion House, and bent his steps up Cheapside. Sam began 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


807 


to wonder where they were going, when his master turned 
round, and said — 

“ Sam, I will go immediately to Mr. Perker’s 

“ That’s just exactly the wery place vere you ought to have 
gone last night,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“ I think it is, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ I know it is,” said Mr. Weller. 

“ Well, well, Sam,” replied Mr. Pickwick, “ we will go there 
at once, but first, as I have been rather ruffled, I should like a 
glass of brandy and water warm, Sam. Where can I have it, 
Sam ?” 

Mr. Weller’s knowledge of London was extensive and pecu- 
liar. He replied, without the slightest consideration — 

“ Second court on the right-hand side — last house but vun on 
the same side the vay — take the box as stands in the first fire- 
place, ’cos there ain’t no leg in the middle o’ the table, vhich all 
the others has, and its wery inconwenient. ” 

Mr. Pickwick observed his valet’s directions implicitly, and 
bidding Sam follow him, entered the tavern he had pointed out, 
where the hot brandy and water was speedily placed before him ; 
while Mr. Weller, seated at a respectful distance, though at the 
same table with his master, was accommodated with a pint of 
porter. 

The room was one of a very homely description, and was 
apparently under the especial patronage of stage-coachmen : for 
several gentleman who had all the appearance of belonging tc 
that learned profession, were drinking and smoking in the dif 
fereut boxes. Among the number was one stout, red-faced, 
elderly man in particular, seated in an opposite box, who attracted 
Mr. Pickwick’s attention. The stout man was smoking with 
great vehemence, but between every half-dozen puffs, he took 
his pipe from his mouth, and looked first at Mr. Weller and then 
at Mr. Pickwick. Then he would bury in a quart pot, as much 
of his countenance as the dimensions of the quart pot admitted 
of its receiving, and take another look at Sam and Mr. Pick- 
wick. Then he would take another half-dozen puffs with an air 
of profound meditation, and look at them again. And at last the 
stout man, putting up his legs on the seat, and leaning his back 
against the wall, began to puff at his pipe without leaving off at 


808 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


all, and to stare through the smoke at the new-coioers, as if he 
had made up his mind to see the most he could of them. 

At first the evolutions of the stout man had escaped Mr. 
Weller’s observation, but by degrees as he saw Mr. Pickwick’s 
eyes every now and then turning towards him, he began to gaze 
ill the same direction, at the same time shading his eyes with his 
hand, as if he partially recognised the object before him, and 
wished to make quite sure of its identity. His doubts were 
speedily dispelled, however; for the' stout man having blown a 
thick cloud from his pipe, a hoarse voice, like some strange ef- 
fort of ventriloquism, emerged from beneath the capacious shawls 
which muffled his throat and chest, and slowly uttered these 
sounds — “ Vy, iSammy.” 

“ Who’s that, Sam ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. • 

“ Why, I wouldn’t ha’ believed it. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller, 
with astonished eyes. “ It’s the old ’un.” 

“ Old one,” said Mr. Pickwick. “ What old one ?” 

“My father. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. “How are you, my 
ancient ?” And with this beautiful ebullition of filial affection, 
Mr. Weller made room on the seat beside him, for the stout man, 
who advanced, pipe in mouth and pot in hand, to greet him. 

Vy. Sammy,” said the father, “I hain’t seen you, for two 
years and better.” 

“No more you have, old codger,” replied the son. “How’s 
mother-in-law ?” 

“Vy, I’ll tell you what, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, senior, 
with much solemnity in his manner, “ there never was a nicer 
woman as a widder, than that ’ere second wentur o’ mine — a 
sweet cretur she was, Sammy, and all I can say on her now, is, 
that as*she was such an uncommon pleasant widder, it’s a great 
pity she ever changed her" condition. She don’t act as a vife, 
Sammy. ” 

“ Don’t she though ?” inquired Mr. Weller, junior. 

The elder Mr. Weller shook his head, as he replied with a 
sigh, “ I’ve done it once too often, Sammy ; I’ve done it once 
too often. Take example by your father, my boy, and be wery 
careful o’ widders all your life, specially if they’ve kept a public 
house, Sammy;” and having delivered this parental advice 
with great pathos, Mr. Weller, senior, refilled his pipe from a 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


809 


till box he carried in his pocket ; and, lip:hting his fresh pipe 
from the ashes of the old one, commenced smoking at a great 
rate. 

“Beg your pardon, Sir,” he said, renewing the subject, and 
addressing Mr. Pickwick, after a considerable pause, “nothin’ 
personal, 1 hope. Sir; I hope you hain’t got a widder. Sir.” 

“Not I,” replied- Mr. Pickwick, laughing; and while Mr. 
Pickwick laughed, Sara Weller informed his parent in a whisper, 
of the relation in which he stood towards that gentleman. 

“Beg your pardon. Sir,” said Mr. Weller, senior, taking off 
his hat, “I hope you’ve no fault to find with Sammy, Sir.” 

“ None whatever, ”'said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Wery glad to hear it, Sir,” replied the old man : “I took a 
good deal o’ pains with his eddication. Sir ; let him run in the 
streets when he was wery young, and shift for his-self. It’s the 
only way to make a boy sharp. Sir.” 

“ Rather a dangerous process, I should imagine,” said Mr. 
Pickwick, with a smile. 

“And not a wery sure one, neither,” added Mr. Weller; “I 
got reg’larly done the other day.” 

“No!” said the father. 

“ I did,” said the son ; and he proceeded to relate in as fev» 
words as possible, how he had fallen a ready dupe to the strata- 
gems of Job Trotter. 

Mr. Weller, senior, listened to the tale with the most pro- 
found attention, and, at its termination, said — 

“ Worn’t one o’ these chaps slim and tall, with long hair, and 
the gift of gab wery gallopin’ ?” 

Mr. Pickwick did not quite understand the last item of de- 
scription, but, comprehending the first, said “ Yes,” at a venture. 

“ T ’other’s a black-haired chap in mulberry livery, with a 
wery large head ?” 

“ Yes, yes, he is,” said Mr. Pickwick and Sam, with great 
earnestness. 

“ Then I know where they are, and that’s all about it,” said 
Mr. Weller; “they’re at Ipswich, safe enough, them two.” 

“No!” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Fact,” said Mr. Weller, “and I’ll tell you how I know it. 
I work an Ipswich coach now and then for a friend o’ mine. I 


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worked down the wery day arter the night as you caught the 
rheumatiz, and at the Black Boy at Chelmsford — the wery place 
they’d come to — I took ’em up, right through to Ipswich, where 
the man-servant — him in the mulberries — ^told me they was a 
goin’ to put up for a long time.” 

“I’ll follow him,” said Mr. Pickwick, “we may as well see 
Ipswich as any other place. I’ll follow him.” 

“ You’re quite certain it was them, governor ?” inquired Mr. 
Weller, junior. 

“Quite, Sammy, quite,” replied his father, “for their appear- 
ance is wery sing’lar ; besides that ’ere, I wondered to see the 
g^n’l’m’n so familiar with his servant ; and, more than that, as 
they sat in front, right behind the box, I heard ’em laughing, 
and saying how they’d done old Fireworks.” 

“ Old who ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Old Fireworks, Sir, by which I’ve no doubt they meant 
you, Sir.” 

There is nothing positively vile or atrocious in the appella- 
tion of “ old Fireworks,” but still it is by no means a respect- 
ful or flattering designation. The recollection of all the 
wrongs he had sustained at Jingle’s hands, had crowded on 
Mr. Pickwick’s mind, the moment Mr. Weller began to speak; 
it wanted but a feather to turn the scale, and “old Fireworks” 
did it. 

“ I’ll follow him,” said Mr. Pickwick, with an emphatic blow 
on the table. 

“ I shall work down to Ipswich the day arter to-morrow. 
Sir,” said Mr. Weller, the elder, “from the Bull in White- 
chapel; and if you really mean to go, you’d better go with me.” 

“ So we had,” said Mr. Pickwick; “very true; I can write 
to Bury, and tell them to meet me at Ipswich. We will go 
with you. But don’t hurry away, Mr. Weller ; won’t you take 
any thing ?” 

“You’re wery good. Sir,” replied Mr. W., stopping short, 
“perhaps a small glass of brandy to drink your health, and 
success to Sammy, Sir, wouldn’t be amiss.” . 

“ Certainly not,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “ A glass of brandy 
here. ” 

The brandy was brought ; and Mr Weller, after pulling his 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


811 


hair to Mr. Pickwick, and nodding to Sara, jerked it down his 
cai)a{dous throat as if it had been a small thimblefull. 

“ Weil done, father,” said Sam, “take care, old fellow, or 
you’ll have a touch of your old complaint, the gout.” * 

“ I’ve found a sov’ri’ii cure for that, Sammy,” replied M.’ 
Weller, setting down the glass. 

“A sovereign cure for the gout,” said Mr. Pickwick, hastily 
producing his note-book. “ What is it ?” 

“The gout. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller, “the gout is a com- 
plaint as arises from too much ease and comfort. If ever you’re 
attacked with the gout. Sir, jist you marry a widder as has got 
a good loud woice, with a decent notion of usin’ it, and you’ll 
never have the gout again. It’s a capital prescription. Sir. I 
takes it reg’lar, and I can warrant it to drive away any illness 
as is caused by too much jollity. ” Having imparted this valuable 
secret, Mr. Weller drained his glass once more, produced a 
labored wink, sighed deeply, and slowly retired. 

“Well, what do you think of what your father says, Sam ?” 
inquired Mr. Pickwick, with a smile. 

“ Think, Sir ?” replied Mr. Weller, why, I think he’s the wic- 
tim o’ connubiality, as Blue Beard’s domestic chaplain said, with 
a tear of pity, ven he buried him. 

There was no replying to this very apposite conclusion, and, 
therefore, Mr. Pickwick, after settling the reckoning, resumed 
his walk to Gray’s Inn. By the time he reached its secluded 
groves, however, eight o’clock had struck, and the unbroken 
stream of gentlemen in muddy high-lows, soiled whiu hats, and 
rusty apparel, who were pouring towards the different avenues 
of egress, warned him that the majority of the offices had closed 
for that day. 

After climbing two pairs of steep and dirty stairs, he found 
his anticipations were realised. Mr. Perker’s “ outer door” 
was closed; and the dead silence which followed Mr. Weller's 
repeated kicks thereat, announced that the officials had retired 
from business for the night 

“This is pleasant, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick; “I shouldn’t 
lose an hour in seeing him ; I shall not be able to get one wink 
of sleep to-night, I know, unless 1 have the satisfaction of 


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reflecting that I have confided this matter to a professional 
man.” 

‘‘ Here’s an old ’ooman cornin’ up stairs, Sir,” replied Mr. 
AVcller; “p’raps she knows where we can find somebody. 
Hallo, old lady, vere’s Mr. Perker’s people ?” 

“Mr. Perker’s people,” said a thin, miserable -looking old 
woman, stopping to recover breath after the ascent of the stair- 
case, “ Mr. Perker’s people’s gone, and I’m a goin’ to do the 
office out.” 

“ Are you Mr. Perker’s servant ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ I am Mr. Perker’s laundress,” replied the old woman. 

“ All,” said Mr. Pickwick, half aside to Sam, “it’s a curious 
circumstance, Sam, that they call the old women in these inns, 
laundresses. I wonder what that’s for.” 

“ ’Cos they has a mortal aversion to washin’ any thin’, I sup- 
pose, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“ 1 shouldn’t wonder,” replied Mr. Pickwick, looking at the 
old woman, whose appearance as well as the condition of the 
office, which she Imd by this time opened, indicated a rooted an- 
tipathy to the application of soap and water; -“do you know 
where I can find Mr. Perker, my good woman ?” 

“No, I don’t,” replied the old woman, gruffly; “he’s out o’ 
town now.” 

“ That’s unfortunate,” said Mr. Pickwick ; “ where’s his clerk 
— do you know ?” 

“ Yes, I know where he is, but he wouldn’t thank me for tell- 
ing you,” replied the laundress. 

“ I have very particular business with him,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

“ Won’t it do in the morning ?” said the woman. 

“Not so well,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Well,” said the old woman, “ if it was any thing very par 
ticular, I was to say where he was, so I suppose there’s no 
harm in telling. If you just go to the Magpie and Stump, and 
ask at the bar for Mr. Lowteii, they’ll show you in to him, and 
he’s Mr. Perker’s clerk.” 

With this direction, and having been furthermore informed 
that the hostelry in question was situated in a court, happy in 
the double advantage of being in the vicinity of Clare lilarket. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


«L3 


and closely approximating to the back of New Inn, Mr. Pick* 
wick and Sam descended the rickety staircase in safety, and is- 
sued forth in quest of the Magpie and Stump. 

This favored tavern, sacred to the evening orgies of Mr. 
Lowten and his companions, was what ordinary people would 
designate a public house. That the landlord was a man of a 
money-making turn, was sufficiently testified by the fact of a 
small bulk-head beneath the tap-room window, in size and 
shape not unlike a sedan-chair, being underlet to a mender of 
shoes ; and that he was a being of a philanthropic mind, was 
evident from the protection afforded to a pie-man, who vended 
his delicacies without fear of interruption, on the very door 
step. In the lower windows, which were decorated with cur- 
tains of a saffron hue, dangled two or three printed cards, 
bearing reference to Devonshire cider and Dantzic spruce, 
while a large black board, announcing in white letters to an 
enlightened public, that there were 500,000 barrels of double 
stout in the cellars of the establishment, left the mind in a state 
of not unpleasing doubt and uncertainty, as to the precise 
direction in the bowels of the earth, in which this mighty cavern 
might be supposed to extend. When we add, that the weather- 
beaten sign-board bore the half-obliterated semblance of a 
magpie intently eyeing a crooked streak of brown paint, which 
the neighbors had been taught from infancy to consider as the 
stump,” we have said all that need be said of the exterioi of 
the edifice. 

On Mr. Pickwick’s presenting himself at the bar, an elderly 
female emerged from behind a screen therein, and presented 
herself before him. 

“ Is Mr. Lowten here. Ma’am?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“Yes, he is. Sir,” replied the landlady. “Here, Charley, 
show the gentleman in, to Mr. Lowten.” 

“The gen’l’m’n can’t go in, just now,” said a shambling pot- 
boy, with a red head, “ ’cos Mr. Lowten’s a singin’ a comic 
Bong, and he’ll put him out. lie’ll be done d’rectly, Sir. ” 

The red-headed pot-boy had scarcely finished speaking, when 
a most unanimous hammering of tables, and jingling of glasses, 
announced that the song had that instant terminated ; and 
Mr. Pickwick, after desiring Sam to solace himself in the tap, 


814 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


suff.jred himself to be conducted into the presence of Mr. 
Lowten. 

At tlie announcement of “ a gentleman to speak to you, Sir,” 
a puffy -faced young man who filled the chair at the head of the 
table, looked with some surprise in the direction from whence 
the voice proceeded : and the surprise seemed to be by no 
means diminished when his eyes rested on an individual whjra 
be had never seen before. 

“ I beg your pardon, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ and I am very 
sorry to disturb the other gentlemen, too, but I come on very 
particular business ; and if you will suffer me to detain you at 
this end of the room for five minutes, I shall be very much 
obliged to you.” 

The puffy-faced young man rose, and drawing a chair close 
to Mr. Pickwick in an obscure corner of the room, listened at- 
tentively to his tale of woe. 

“Ah,” he said, when Mr. Pickwick had concluded, “Dodson 
and Fogg — sharp practice their’s — capital men of business is 
Dodson and Fogg, Sir.” 

Mr. Pickwick admitted the sharp practice of Dodson and 
Fogg, and Lowten resumed. 

“ Perker ain’t in town, and he won’t be neither, before the 
end of next week ; but if you want the action defended, and 
will leave the copy with me, I can do all that’s needful till he 
comes back.” 

“ That’s exactly what I came here for,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
handing over the document. “If any thing particular occurs, 
you can write to me at the post-office, Ipswich.” 

“ That’s all right,” replied Mr. Perker’s clerk ; and then see- 
ing Mi. Pickwick’s eye wandering curiously towards the table, 
he added, “ Will you join us, for half-an-hour or so ? We are 
capital company here to-night. There’s Sainkin and Green’s 
managing clerk, and Smithers and Price’s chancery, and Pirnkiri 

and Thomas’s out o’ door — sings a capital song, he does and 

Jack Bamber, and ever so many more. You’re come out of the 
country, I suppose. Would you like to join us ?” 

Mr. Pickwick could not resist so tempting an opportunity of 
studying human nature. He suffered himself to be led to the 
table, where, after having been introduced to the company in 


315 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

due form, he was accommodated with a seat near the chairman, 
and called for a glass of his favorite beverage. 

A profound silence, quite contrary to Mr. Pickwick’s expecta- 
tion, succeeded. 

“You don’t find this sort of thing disagreeable, I hope, 
Sir ?” said his right-hand neighbor, a gentleman in a checked 
shirt and Mosaic studs, with a cigar in his mouth. 

“Not in the least,” replied Mr. Pickwick, “I like it very 
much, although I am no smoker myself.” 

“ I should be very sorry to say I wasn’t,” interposed another 
gentleman on the opposite side of the table. “ It’s board and 
lodging to me, is smoke.” 

Mr. Pickwick glanced at the speaker, and thought that if it 
were washing too, it would be all the better. 

Here there was another pause. Mr. Pickwick was a stranger, 
and his coming had evidently cast a damp upon the party. 

“ Mr. Grundy’s going to oblige tlie company with a song,” 
said the chairman. ^ 

“No he ain’t,” said Mr. Grundy. 

“ Why not ?” said the chairman. 

“Because I can’t,” said Mr. Grundy. 

“You had better say you won’t,” replied the chairman. 

“Well, then I won’t,” retorted Mr. Grundy. Mr. Grundy’s 
positive refusal to gratify the company, occasioned another 
silence. 

“ Won’t any body enliven us ?” said the chairman, despond- 
ingly. 

“ Why don’t you enliven us yourself, Mr. Chairman ?” said a 
young man with a whisker, a squint, and an open shirt-collar 
(dirty) from the bottom of the table. 

“ Hear I hear 1” said the smoking gentleman, in the Mosaic 
jcwehy. 

“ Because I only know one song, and I have sung it already, 
and it’s a fine of ‘ glasses round’ to sing the same song twice in 
a night,” replied the chairman. 

This was an unanswerable reply, and silence prevailed again. 

“ I have been to-night, gentlemen,” said Mr. Pickwick, hoping 
to start a subject which all the company could take part in dis- 
cussing, “ I have been to-night in a place which you all know 


816 


T^E PICKWICK PAPERS. 

very well, doubtless, but which I have not been in before, for 
some years, and know very little of ; I mean Gray’s Inn, gentle- 
men. Curious little no^ks in a great place, like Imndon, these 
old Inns are ?” 

“ By Jove,” said the chairman, whispering across the table to 
Mr. Pickwick, “you have hit upon something that one of us, at 
least, would talk upon for ever. You’ll draw old Jack Bamber 
out ; he was never heard to talk about any thing else but the 
Inns, and he has lived alone in them till he’s half crazy.” 

The individual to whom Lowten alluded, was a little yellow 
high-shouldered man, whose countenance, from his habit of 
stooping forward when silent, Mr. Pickwick had not observed 
before. He wondered though, when the old man raised his 
shriveled face, and bent his bright grey eye upon him, with a 
keen inquiring look, that such remarkable features could have 
escaped his attention for a moment. There was a fixed grim 
smile perpetually on his countenance ; he leaned his chin on a 
long skinny hand, with nails of extraordinary length ; and as 
he inclined his head to one side, and looked keenly out from 
beneath his ragged grey eyebrows, there was a strange, wild 
slyness in his leer, quite repulsive to behold. 

This was the figure that now started forward, and burst into 
an animated torrent of words. As this chapter has been a long 
one, however, and as the old man was a remarkable personage, 
it will be more respectful to him, and more convenient to us, to 
let him speak for himself in a fresh one. 


CHAPTER XXir. 


IN WHICH THE OLD MAN LAUNCHES FORTH INTO HIS FAVORITE 
THExME, AND RELATES A STORY ABOUT A QUEER CLIENT. 

“AiiAi” said the old man, a brief description of whoso 
manner and appearance concluded the last chapter, “Aha! who 
was talking about the Inns 

“ I was, Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick — “ I was observing what 
singular old places they are.” 

“ YouP^ said the old man, contemptuously — “What do you 
know of the time when young men shut themselves up in those 
lonely rooms, and read and read, hour after hour, and night after 
night, till their reason wandered beneath their midnight studies ; 
till their mental powers were exhausted ; till morning’s light 
brought no freshness or health to them ; and they sank beneath 
the unnatural devotion of their youthful energies to their dry 
old books ? Coming down to a later time, and a very different 
lay, what do you know of the gradual sinking beneath con- 
sumption or the quick wasting of fever — the grand results of 
* life’ and dissipation — which men have undergone in those same 
rooms ? How many vain pleaders for mercy, do you think, have 
turned away heart-sick from the lawyer’s office to find a resting- 
place in the Thames, or a refuge in the jail ? They are no 
ordinary houses, those. There is not a panel in the old wain- 
scoting, but what, if it were endowed with the powers of speech 
and memory, could start from the wall, and tell its tale of horror 
— the romance of life, Sir, the romance of life. Commonplace 
as they may seem now, I tell you they are strange old places, 
and I would rather hear many a legend with a terrific-sounding 
name, than the true history of one old set of chambers.” 

I'here was something so odd in the old man’s sudden encrgj, 
and the subject which had called it forth, that Mr. Pickwick 
was prepared with no observation in reply ; and the old .man, 

(31t) 


818 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


checking his irapetucsity, and resuming the leer, which had dia- 
appeared during his previous excitement, saM — 

“ Look at them in another light ; their most comntonpLice 
and least romantic : what fine places of slow torture they arc. 
Think of the needy man who has spent his all, beggared him- 
self, and pinched his friends, to enter the profession, which is 
destined never to yield a morsel of bread to him. The waiting 
— the hope — the disappointment — the fear — the misery — the 
poverty — the blight on his hopes, and end to his career — the 
suicide perhaps, or, better still, the shabby, slip-shod drunkard. 
Am I not right about them, eh ?” And the old man rubbed his 
hands and leered as if in delight at having found another point 
of view in which to place his favorite subject. 

Mr. Pickwick eyed the old man with great curiosity, and the 
remainder of the company smiled and looked on in silence. 

“Talk of your German universities,’’ said the little old man 
— “ Pooh, pooh I there’s romance enough at home, without 
going half a mile for it ; only people never think of it.” 

“ I never thought of the romance of this particular subject 
before, certainly,” said Mr. Pickwick, laughing. 

“To be sure you didn’t,” said the little old man, “of course 
not. As a friend of mine used to say to me, ‘ What is there in 
chambers, in particular?’ ‘Queer old places,’ said I. ‘Not at 
all,’ said he. ‘ Lonely,’ said I. ‘ Not a bit of it,’ said he. He 
died one morning of apoplexy, as he was going to open his 
outer door. Fell with his head in his own letter-box and there 
he lay for eighteen months. Every body thought he’d gone out 
of town. 

“ And how was he found at last ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ The benchers determined to break his door open, as he 
hadn’t paid rent for two years. So they did. Forced the 
lock ; and a very dusty skeleton in a blue coat, black knee- 
shorts, and silks, fell forward in the arras of the porter who 
o]»eued the door. Queer, that. Rather, perhaps; rather, eh ?” 
And the little old man put his head more on one side, and 
rubbed his hands with unspeakable glee. 

“ 1 know another case,” said the little old man, wher. his 
chuckles had in some d(?gree subsided — “ it occurred in Clifibrd’a 
Inn. Tenant of a top set — bad character — shut himself up in 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


819 


his bed-roora closet, and took a dose of arsenic. The steward 
ilionght lie hud run away : opened the door, and put a bill up. 
Another man came, took the chambers, furnished them, and 
w«mt to live there. Somehow or other he couldn’t sleep — always 
restless and uncomfortable. ‘ Odd,’ says he. ‘ I’ll make the 
other room my bed-chamber and this my sitting-room.’ lie 
made the change, and slept very well at night, but suddenly 
found that somehow he couldn’t read in the evening; he got 
nervous and uncomfortable, and used to be always snuffing his 
candles and staring about him. ‘ I can’t make this out,’ said 
he, when he came home from the play one night, and was drink- 
ing a glass of cold grog, with his back to the wall, in order that 
he mightn’t be able to fancy there was any one behind him — ‘ I 
can’t make it out,’ said he ; and just then his eyes rested on the 
little closet that had always been locked up, and a shudder ran 
through his whole frame from top to toe ‘I have felt this 
strange feeling before,’ said he — ‘ I cannot help thinking there’s 
something wrong about this closet.’ He made a strong effort, 
plucked up his courage, shivered the lock with a blow or two 
of the poker, opened the door, and there, sure enough, standing 
bolt upright in the corner, was the last tenant, with a little 
bottle clasped firmly in his hand, and his face livid with the hue 
of a painful death.” As the little old man concluded, he looked 
round on the attentive faces of his wondering auditory with a 
.smile of grim delight. 

“ What strange things these are you tell us of, Sir,” said Mr. 
Pickwick, minutely scanning the old man’s countenance, by the 
aid of his glasses. 

‘‘Strange!” said the little old man — “Nonsense; jou think 
them strange because you know nothing about it. They are 
funny, but not uncommon.” 

“ Funny !” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, involuntarilly. 

“ Yes, funny, are they not ?” replied the little old man, with 
a diabolical leer ; and then, without pausing for an answer, he 
continued — 

“ I knew another man — let me see — it’s forty years ago now 
— who look an old, damp, rotten set of chambers, in one of the 
most ancient Inns, that had been shut up and empty for years 
and years before. There were lots of old women’s stories 


320 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


about the place, and it certainly was very far from being a 
cheerful one ; but he was poor, and the rooms were cheap, and 
that would have been quite a suilicient reason for him, if they 
had been ten times worse than they really were. He was 
obliged to take some mouldering fixtures that were on the place, 
and, among the rest, was a great lumbering wooden press for 
papers, with large glass doors, and a green curtain inside ; a 
pretty useless thing for him, for he had no papers to put in it •, 
and as to his clothes, he carried them about with him, and that 
wasn’t very hard work either. Well, he had moved in all his 
furniture — it wasn’t quite a truck-full — and sprinkled it about 
the room, so as to make the four chairs look as much like a 
dozen as possible, and was sitting down before the fire at night, 
drinking the first glass of two gallons of whiskey he had ordered 
on credit, wondering whether it would ever be paid for, and if 
so, in how many years’ time, when his eyes encountered the glass 
doors of the wooden press. ‘ Ah I’ says he — ‘ if I hadn’t been 
obliged to take that ugly article at the old broker’s valuation, I 
might have got something comfortable for the money. I’ll tell 
you what it is, old fellow,’ he said, speaking aloud to the press, 
just because he had got nothing else to speak to — ‘ if it wouldn’t 
cost more to break up your old carcase, than it would ever be 
worth afterwards, I’d have a fire out of you, in less than no time.’ 
He had hardly spoken the words, when a sound resembling a 
faint groan, appeared to. issue from the interior of the case. It 
startled him at first, but thinking, on a moment’s reflection, that 
it must be some young fellow in the next chambers, who had 
been dining out, he put his feet on the fender, and raised the 
poker to stir the fire. At that moment the sound was repeated : 
and one of the glass doors slowly opening, disclosed a pale and 
emaciated figure in soiled and worn apparel, standing erect in 
the press. The figure was tall and thin, and the countenance 
expressive of care and anxiety ; but there was something in the 
hue of the skin, and gaunt and unearthly appearance of the 
whole form, which no being of this world was ever seen to wear. 
‘Who are you V said the new tenant, turning very pale, poising 
the poker in his hand, however, and taking a very decent aim at 
the countenance of the figure — ‘ Who are you ?’ ‘ Don’t throw 

that poker oA me,’ replied the form — ‘ If you hurled it with ever 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


821 


so sure an aim, it would pass through me without resistance, 
and expend its force on the wood behind. I am a spirit.^ ‘ And, 
pray, what do you want here V faltered the tenant. ‘ In this 
room,’ replied the apparition, ‘ my worldly ruin was worked, and 
1 and my children were beggared. In this press, the papers in 
a long, long suit, which accumulated for years, were deposited. 
In this room, when I had died of grief, and long-deferred hope, 
two wily harpies divided the wealth for which I had contested 
during a wretched existence, and of which, at last, not one far- 
thing was left for my unhappy descendants. I terrified them 
from the spot, and since that day have prowled by night — the 
only period at which I can revisit the earth — about the scenes 
of ray long-protracted misery. This apartment is mine : leave it 
to me.’ ‘ If you insist upon making your appearance here,’ said 
the tenant, who had had time to collect his presence of mind 
during this prosy statement of the ghost’s — ‘ I shall give up pos- 
session with the greatest pleasure ; but I should like to ask you 
one question, if you will allow me.’ ‘ Say on,’ said the apparition, 
sternly. ‘Well,’ said the tenant, ‘I don’t apply the observa- 
tion personally to you, because it is equally applicable to all the 
ghosts I ever lieard of ; but it does appear to me somewhat in- 
consistent, that when you have an opportunity of visiting the 
fairest spots of earth — for I suppose space is nothing to you — 
you should always return exactly to the very places where you 
have been most miserable.’ ‘ Egad, that’s very true ; I never 
thought of that before,’ said the ghost. ‘ You see. Sir,’ pursued 
the tenant, ‘this is a very uncomfortable room. From the 
appearonce of that press, I should be disposed to say that it is 
not wholly free from bugs ; and I really think you might find 
much more comfortable quarters : to say nothing of the climate 
of London, wliich is extremely disagreeable.’ ‘You are very 
right. Sir,’ said the ghost, politely, ‘it never struck me till now; 
j’ll tiy a change of air directly’ — and, in fact, he began to 
viuirh as he spoke ; his legs, indeed, had quite disappeared, 

‘ And if, Sir,’ said the tenant, calling after him, ‘ if you would 
liave the goodness to suggest to the other ladies and gentleman 
who are now engaged in haunting old empty houses, that they 
might be much more comfortable elsewhere, you will confer a, 
very great benefit pu society. ‘ I will,’ replied the ghost j ‘ wo 

h 


822 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


ranst be dull fellows — very dull fellows, indeed ; I can^t in.<igine 
how we can hare been so stupid.’ With these words, the spirit 
disappeared ; and what is rather remarkable,” added the old 
man, with a shrewd look round the table, “ he never came back 
again.” 

‘‘That ain’t bad, if it’s true,” said the man in the Mosaic 
studs, lighting a fresh cigar. 

“7/*/” exclaimed the old man, with a look of excessive con- 
tempt. “I suppose,” he added, turning to Lowten, “he’ll say 
next, that my story about the queer client we had, when I was 
in an attorney’s office, is not true, either — I shouldn’t wonder.” 

“I shan’t venture to say any thing at all about it, seeing that 
I never heard the story,” observed the owner of the Mosaic 
decorations. 

“I wish you would repeat it. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

Ah, do,” said Lowteii, “nobody has heard it but me, and I 
have nearly forgotten it.” 

The old man looked round the table, and leered more horribly 
than ever, as if in triumph, at the attention which was depicted 
in every face. Then rubbing his chin with his hand, and look- 
ing up to the ceiling as if to recall the circumstances to his 
memory, he began as follows ; — 

THE OLD MAN’S TALE ABOUT THE QUEER CLIENT. 

“It matters little,” said the old man, “where, or how, I 
picked up this brief history. If I were to relate it in the order 
in which it reached me, I should commence in the middle, and 
when I arrived at the conclusion, go back for a beginning. It is 
enough for me to say that some of its circumstances passed 
before my own eyes; for the remainder, I know them to Lave 
happened, and there are some persons yet living, who will 
re member them but too well. 

“In the Borough High Street, near Saint George’s Church, 
and on the same side of the way, stands, as most people know, 
the smallest of our debtors’ prisons — ^the Marshalsea. Although 
in later times it has been a very different place from the sink 
of filth and dirt it once was, even its improved condition holds 
out but little temptation to the extravagant or consolation to 
the improvident. The condemned felon has as good a yard for 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


828 


air and exercise in ^^'ewgate, as the insolvent debtor in the 
Marshalsea Prison. 

“It may be my fancy, or it may be that I cannot separate tlie 
place from the old recollections associated with it, but this 
part of London I cannot bear. The street is broad, the slio[)i? 
are spacious, the noise of passing vehicles, the footsteps of a per- 
petual stream of people — all the busy sounds of traffic, resound 
ill it from morn to midnight, but the streets around are mean 
and close ; poverty and debauchery lie festering in the crowded 
alleys, want and misfortune are pent up in the narrow prison; an 
air of gloom and dreariness seems, in my eyes at least, to hang 
about the scene, and to impart to it a squalid and sickly hue. 

“Many eyes, that have long since been closed in the grave, 
have looked round upon that scene lightly enough, when enter- 
ing the gate of the old Marshalsea Prison for the tirst time: for 
despair seldom comes with the first severe shock of misfortune. 
A man has confidence in untried friends, he remembers the many 
3ffei*s of service so freely made by his boon companions when 
he wanted them not: he has hope — the hope of happy inex- 
perience — and however he may bend beneath the first shock, it 
springs up in his bosom, and flourishes there for a brief space, 
until it droops beneath the blight of disappointment and neglect. 
How soon have those same eyes, deeply sunken in the head, 
glared from faces wasted with famine, and sallow from confine- 
ment, in days when it was no figure of speech to say that debtors 
rotted in prison, with no hope of release, and no prospect of 
liberty 1 The atrocity in its full extent no longer exists, but 
there is enough of it left, to give rise to occurrences that make 
the heart bleed. 

“ Twenty years ago, that pavement was worn with the foot- 
steps of a mother and child, who, day by day, so surely as the 
morning came, presented themselves at the prison gate ; often 
after a night of restless misery and anxious thoughts, were they 
there, a full hour too soon, and then the young mother turning 
meekly away, would lead the child to the old bridge, and rais- 
ing him in her arms to show him the glistening water, tinted 
with the light of the morning’s sun, and stirring with all the 
bustling preparations for business and pleasure that the river 
presents at that early hour, endeavor to interest his thoughts in 


824 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


the objects before him. But she would quickly set him down, 
and hiding her face in her shawl, give vent to the tears that 
blinded her, for no expression of interest or amusement lighted 
up his thin and sickly face. His recollections were few enough, 
but they were all of one kind — all connected with the poverty 
and misery of his parents. Hour after hour, had he sat on 
his mother’s knee, and with childish sympathy watched the 
tears that stole down her face, and then crept quietly away 
into some dark corner, and sobbed himself to sleep. The hard 
realities of the world, with many of its worst privations — hunger 
and thirst, and cold and want — had all come home to him from 
the first dawnings of reason ; and though the form of childhood 
was there, its light heart, its merry laugh, and sparkling eyes 
were wanting. 

“ The father and mother looked on upon this, and upon each 
other, with thoughts of agony they dared not breathe in words. 
The healthy, strong made man who could have borne almost any 
fatigue of active exertion, was wasting beneath the close confine- 
ment and unhealthy atmosphere of a crowded prison. The 
slight and delicate w'oman was sinking beneath the combined 
effects of bodily and mental illness ; the child’s young heart was 
breaking. 

“ Winter came, and with it weeks of cold and heavy rain. 
The poor girl had removed to a wretched apartment close to the 
spot of her husband’s imprisonment; and though the change 
had been rendered necessary by their increasing poverty, she 
was happier now, for she was nearer him. For two months, she 
and her little companion watched the opening of the gate as 
usual. One day she failed to come for the first time. An- 
other morning arrived, and she came alone. The child was, 
dead. 

“ They little know, who coldly talk of the poor man’s bereave- 
ments, as a happy release from pain to the departed, and a mer- 
ciful relief from expense to the survivor — they little know, I say, 
what the agony of those bereavements is. A silent look of 
affection and regard when all other eyes are turned coldly au'ay 
I — the consciousness that we possess the sympathy and affection 
of one being when all others have deserted us — is a hold, a stay, 
a comfort iu the deepest affliction, which no wealth could pur- 


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825 


chase, or power l)estow. The child had sat at his parents’ feet 
for liours together, with his little hands patiently folded in each 
other, and his thin wan face raised towards them. They had 
seen him pine away, from day to day ; and though his brief 
existence had been a joyless one, and he was now removed to 
that peace and rest which, child as he was, he had never known in 
this world, they were his parents, and his loss sunk deep into 
their souls. 

It was plain to those who looked upon the mother’s altered 
face, that death must soon close the scene of her adversity and 
trial. Her husband’s fellow prisoners shrunk from obtruding 
on his grief and misery, and left to himself alone, the small 
room he had previously occupied in common with two com- 
panions. She shared it with him : and lingering on without 
pain, but without hope, her life ebbed slowly away. 

“ She had fainted one evening in her husband’s arms, and he 
had borne her to the open window to revive her, with the air, 
when the light of the moon falling full upon her face, showed 
him a change upon her features, which made him stagger beneath 
her weight, like a helpless infant. 

“‘Set me down, George,’ she said, faintly. He did so, and 
seating himself beside her, covered his face with his hands, and 
burst into tears. 

“ ‘ It is very hard to leave you, George,’ she said, ‘ but it’s 
God’s will, and you must bear it for my sake. Oh ! how I thank 
him for having taken our boy ! He is happy, and in heaven now. 
What would he have done here, without his mother !’ 

“‘You shall not die, Mary, you shall not die;’ said the hus- 
band, starting up. He paced hurriedly to and fro, striking his 
head with his clenched fists ; then reseating himself beside her, 
and supporting her in his arms, added more calmly, ‘ Rouse your- 
self, my dear girl — pray, pray do. You will revive yet.’ 

“‘Never again, George; never again,’ — said the dying 
woman. ‘ Let them lay me by my -poor boy now, but promise me, 
that if ever you leave this dreadful place, and should grow rich, 
you will have us removed to some quiet country church-yard, a 
long, long way off — very far from here, where we can rest in 
peace. Dear George, promise me you will.’ 

‘ I do, I do’ — said the man, throwing himself passionately 


826 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


on his knees before her. ‘ Speak to me, Mary, another word ; 
one look — but one — ’ 

“He ceased to speak ; for the arm that clasped his neck, 
grew stiff and heavy. A deep sigh escaped from the wasted 
form before liim ; the lips moved, and a smile played upon the 
face, but the lips were pallid, and the smile faded into a rigid 
and ghastly stare. He was alone in the world. 

“ That night, in the silence and desolation of his miserable 
room, the wretched man knelt down by the dead body of his 
wife, and called on God to witness a dreadful oath, that from 
that hour, he devoted himself to revenge her death and that of 
his child ; that from thenceforth to the last moment of his life, 
his whole energies should be directed to this one object ; that 
his revenge should be protracted and terrible ; that his hatred 
should be undying and unextinguishable ; and should hunt its 
object through the world. 

“ The deepest despair, and passion scarcely human, had made 
such fierce ravages on his face and form, in that one night, that 
his companions in misfortune shrunk aflfrighted from him as he 
passed by. His eyes were bloodshot and heavy, his face deadly 
white, and his body bent as if with age. He had bitten his 
under lip nearly through in the violence of his mental suffering, 
and the blood which had flowed from the wound had trickled 
down his chin, and stained his shirt and neckerchief. No tear, 
or sound of complaint escaped him ; but the unsettled look, and 
disordered haste with which he paced up and down the yard, 
denoted the fever which v/as burning within. 

“ It was necessary that his wife’s body should be removed from 
the prison, without delay. He received the communication with 
perfect calmness, and acquiesced in its propriety. Nearly all 
the inmates of the prison had assembled to witness its removal ; 
they fell back on either side when the widower appeared ; he 
walked hurriedly forward, and stationed himself, alone, in a little 
railed area close to the lodge gate, from whence the crowd, with 
an instinctive feeling of delicacy, had retired. The rude coffin 
was borne slowly forward on men’s shoulders. A dead silence 
pervaded the throng, broken only by tlie audible lamentations 
of the women, and the shuffling steps of the bearers on the stone 
pavement. They reached the spot where the bereaved husband 


THE PICKWICK lAPERS. 


327 


stood ; and stopped. He laid his hand upon the coffin, and 
mechanically adjusting the pall with wliich it was covered, mo- 
tioned them onwards. The turnkeys in the prison lobby took 
off their hats as it passed through, and in another moment the 
heavy gate closed behind it. He looked vacantly upon the 
crowd, and fell heavily to the ground. 

“ Although for many weeks after this he was watched night 
and day, in the wildest ravings of fever, neither the conscious- 
ness of his loss, nor the recollection of the vow he had made, 
ever left him for a moment. Scenes changed before his eyes, 
place succeeded place, and event followed event, in all the hurry 
of delirium ; but they were all connected in some way with the 
great object of his mind. He was sailing over a boundless 
expanse of sea, with a blood-red sky above, and the angry waters 
lashed into fury beneath, boiling and eddying up on every side. 
There was another vessel before them, toiling and laboring in 
the howling storm ; her canvas fluttering in ribands from the 
mast, and her deck thronged with figures who were lashed to the 
sides, over which huge waves every instant burst, sweeping away 
some devoted creatures into the foaming sea. Onward they 
bore, amidst the roaring mass of water, with a speed and force 
which nothing could resist ; and striking the stern of the fore- 
most vessel, crushed her beneath their keel. From the huge 
whirlpool which the sinking wreck occasioned, arose a shriek so 
loud and shrill — the death-cry of a hundred drowning wretches, 
blended into one fierce yell — that it rung far above the war-cry 
of the elements, and echoed, and re-echoed till it seemed to 
pierce air, sky, and ocean. But what was that — that old grey 
head that rose above the water’s surface, and with looks of 
agony, and screams for aid, buffeted with the waves I One look, 
and he had sprung from the vessel’s side, and with vigorous 
strokes was swimming towards it. He reached it, he was close 
upon it. They were his features. The old man saw him com- 
ing, and vainly strove to elude his grasp. But he clasped him 
tight, and dragged him beneath the water. Down, down with 
him fifty fathoms deep; his struggles grew fainter and fainter, 
mitil they wholly ceased. He was dead ; he had killed him, 
and had kept his oath. 

“ He was traversing the scorching sands of a mighty deser^ 


828 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


barefooted and alone. The sand choked and blinded him ; its 
fine iliin grains entered the very pores of his skin, and irritated 
him almost to madness. Gigantic masses of the same material, 
carried forward by the wind, and shone through by the burning 
sun, "stalked in the distance like pillars of living fire. The bones 
of men, wno had perished in the dreary waste, lay scattered at 
his feet ; a fearful light fell on everything around ; and so far 
as the eye could reach, nothing but objects of dread and horror 
presented themselves. Vainly striving to utter a cry of terror, 
with his tongue cleaving to his mouth, he rushed madly forward 
Armed with supernatural strength, he waded through the sand, 
until, exhausted with fatigue and thirst, he fell senseless on the 
earth. What fragrant coolness revived him ? what gushing 
sound was that ? Water ! It was indeed a well ; and the clear 
fresh stream was running at his feet. He drank deeply of it, 
and throwing his aching limbs upon the bank, sunk into a deli- 
cious trance. The sound of approaching footsteps roused him. 
An old grey-headed man tottered forward to slake his burning 
thirst. It was he again. He wound his arms round the old 
man’s body, and held him back. He struggled in powerful 
convulsions, and shrieked for water — for but one drop of water 
to save his life. But he held the old man firmly, and watched 
his agonies with greedy eyes; and when his lifeless head fell 
forward on his bosom, he rolled the corpse from him with his 
feet. 

“ When the fever left him, and consciousness returned, he 
awoke to find himself rich and free : to hear that the parent 
who would have let him die in jail — would! who had let those 
who were far dearer to him than his own existence, die of want 
and the sickness of heart that medicine cannot cure — had been 
found dead in his bed of down. He had all the heart to leave 
his son s beggar, but proud even of his health and strength, he 
pnt off the act till it was too late, and now might gnash his teeth 
in the other world, at the thought of the wealth his remissness 
had left him He woke to this, and he woke to more. To 
recollect the purpose for which he lived, and to remember that 
his enemy was his wife’s own father — the man who had cast him 
into prison, and who, when his daughter and her child sued at 
his feet for mercy, had spurned them from his door. Oh, how 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


B29 


l e cursed the weakness that prevented him from being np, and 
active, in his scheme of vengeance 1 

“He caused himself to be carried from the scene of his loss 
and misery, and conveyed to a quiet residence on the sea-coast — 
not in the hope of recovering his peace of mind or happiness, 
for both were fled for ever: but to restore his prostrate ener- 
gies, and meditate on his darling object. And here, some evi 
(rpirit cast in his way the opportunity for his first, most horrible 
revenge. 

“ It was summer time ; and wrapped in his gloomy thoughts, 
he would issue from his solitary lodgings early in the evening, 
and wandering along a narrow path beneath the cliffs to a wild 
and lonely spot that had struck his fancy in his rarnblings, seat 
himself on some fallen fragments of the rock, and burying his 
face in his hands, remain there for hours — sometimes until night 
had completely closed in, and the long shadows of the frowning 
cliffs above his head, cast a thick black darkness on every object 
near him. 

“ He was seated here, one calm evening, in his old position, 
now and then raising his head, to watch the flight of a seagull, 
or carry his eye along the glorious crimson path, which, com- 
mencing in the middle of the ocean, seemed to lead to its very 
verge where the sun was setting, when the profound stillness of 
the spot was broken by a loud cry for help ; he listened, doubt- 
ful of his having heard aright, when the cry was repeated with 
even greater vehemence than before, and, starting to his feet, he 
hastened in the direction from whence it proceeded. 

“ The tale told itself at once : some scattered garments lay 
on the beach ; a human head was just visible above the waves 
at a little distance from the shore ; and an old man, wringing 
his hands in agony, was running to and fro, shrieking for assist- 
ance. The invalid, whose strength was now sufficiently restored, 
threw off his coat, and rushed towards the sea, with the intention 
of plunging in, and dragging the drowning man ashore. 

“ Hasten here. Sir, in God’s name ; help, help. Sir, for the 
love of Heaven. He is my son, Sir, my only son,’ said the old 
man, frantically, as he advanced to meet him. ‘ My only son, 
Sir, and he’s dying before his father’s eyes.’ 

*‘At the first word the old man uttered, the stranger checked 


830 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


himself in his career, ai d folding his arms, stood perfectly 
motionless. 

“ ‘Great God !’ exclaimed the old man, recoiling — ‘ Ileyliiig I* 

“ The stranger smiled, and was silent. 

“‘Heylingl’ said the old man, wildly — ‘my boy, Heyling, 
my dear boy, look, look,’ and, gasping for breath, the miserable 
hither pointed to the spot where the young man was struggling 
for life. 

“ ‘ Hark I’ said the old man — ‘ He cries once more. He is 
alive yet. Heyling, save him, save him.’ 

“ The stranger smiled again, and remained immovable as a 
statue. 

“ ‘ I have wronged you,’ shrieked the old man, falling on his 
knees, and clasping his hands together — ‘ be revenged ; take my 
all, my life , cast me into the water at your feet, and, if human 
nature can repress a struggle, I will die, without stirring hand 
or foot. Do it, Heyling, do it, but save my boy, he is so yonug, 
Heyling, so young to die.’ 

“ ‘Listen,’ said the stranger, grasping the old man fiercely by 
the wrist — ‘ I will have life for life, and here is one. My child 
died before his father’s eyes, a far more agonising and painful 
death than that young slanderer of his sister’s worth is meeting 
while I speak. You laughed — laughed in your daughter’s face, 
where death had already set his hand — at our sufferings then. 
What think you of them now ? See there, see there.’ 

“ As the stranger spoke, he pointed to the sea. A faint cry 
died away upon its surface ; the last powerful struggle of the 
dying man agitated the rippling waves for a few seconds : and 
the si)ot where he had gone down into his early grave, was un- 
distinguishable from the surrounding water. 

* ♦ * ^ ♦ * % 

“ Three years had elapsed, when a gentleman alighted from a 
private carriage at the door of a London attorney, then well 
known to the public as a man of no great nicety in his pro- 
fessional dealings, and requested a private interview on business 
of importance. Although evidently not past the prime of life, 
his face was pale, haggard, and dejected ; and it did not require 
the acute perception of the man of business, to discern at a 
glance, that disease or suffering had done more to work a 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


881 


change in his appearance, than the mere hand of Hme coaid 
liave acccTniplished in twice the period of his whole life. 

“ ‘ I wish you to undertake some legal business for me,^ said 
the stranger. 

“ I'he attorney bowed obsequiously, and glanced at a large 
packet which the gentleman carried in his hand. His visitor 
observed the look, and proceeded. 

“ ‘ It is- no common business,’ said he ; ‘ nor have these papers 
reached my hands without long trouble and great expense.’ 

“The attorney cast a still more anxious look at the packet; 
and his visitor, untying the string that bound it, disclosed a 
quantity of promissory notes, with some copies of deeds, and 
other documents. 

‘“Upon these papers,’ said the client, ‘the man whose name 
they bear, has raised, as you will see, large sums of money, for 
some years past. There was a tacit understanding between him 
and the men into whose hands they originally went — and from 
whom I have by degrees purchased the whole, for treble and 
quadruple their nominal value — that these loans should be from 
time to time renewed, until a given period had elapsed. Such 
an understanding is nowhere expressed. He has sustained 
many losses of late ; and these obligations accumulating upon 
h'.m at once, would crush him to the earth.’ 

“ ‘ The whole amount is some thousands of pounds,’ said the 
attorney, looking over the papers. 

“ ‘ It is,’ said the client. 

“ ‘ What are we to do ?’ inquired the man of business. 

“ ‘ Do I’ replied the client, with sudden vehemence — ‘ Put 
every engine of the law in force, every trick that ingenuity can 
devise and rascality execute ; fair means and foul ; the open 
oppression of the law, aided by all the craft of its most inge- 
nious practitioners. I would have him die a harassing and 
lingering death. Ruin him, seize and sell his lands and goods, 
diive him from house and home, and drag him forth a beggar 
in his old age, to die in a common jail.” 

“ ‘ But the costs, my dear Sir, the costs of all this,’ reasoned 
tln^ attorney, when he had recovered from his momentary sur- 
jji'ise — ‘ If the defendant be a man of straw, who is to pay the 
costs, Sir 


882 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


‘ Name any sum,^ said the stranger, his hand trembling so 
violently with excitement, that he could scarcely hold the pen 
he seized as he spoke — ‘any sum, and it is yours. Don’t bo 
afraid to name it, man. I shall not think it dear, if you gain 
my object.’ 

“ The attorney named a large sum, at hazard, as the advance 
he should require to secure himself against the possibility of 
loss; but more with the view of ascertaining how far his client 
was really disposed to go, than with any idea that he would 
comply with the demand. The stranger wrote a cheque upon 
his banker for the whole amount, and left him. 

“ The draft was duly honored, and the attorney, finding tliat 
his strange client might be safely relied upon, commenced his 
work in earnest. For more than two years afterwards, Mr. 
Heyling would sit whole days together, in the office, ]ioring 
over the papers as they accumulated, and reading again and 
again, his eyes gleaming with joy, the letters of remonstrance, 
the prayers for a little delay, the representations of the certain 
ruin in wdiich the opposite party must be involved, which poured 
in, as suit after suit, and process after process, were commenced. 
To all applications for a brief indulgence, there was but one 
reply — the money must be paid. Land, house, furniture, each 
in its turn, was taken under some one of the numerous execu- 
tions which were issued ; and the old man himself would have 
been immured in prison bad he not escaped the vigilance of the 
officers, and fled. 

“ The implacable animosity of Heyling, so far from being 
satiated by the success of his persecution, increased a hundred- 
fold with the ruin he inflicted. On being informed of the old 
man’s flight, his fury was unbounded. He gnashed his teeth 
with rage, tore the hair from his head, and assailed with horrid 
imprecations the men who had been intrusted with the writ. 
He w'as only restored to comparative calmness by repeated 
assurances of the certainty of discovering the fugitine. Agents 
were sent in quest of him, in all directions ; every stratagem 
that could be invented w^as resorted to, for the purpose of dis- 
covering his place of retreat ; but it was all in vain. Half a 
year had passed over, and he was still undiscovered. 

“ At length, late one night, Heyling, of whom nothing had 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


been seen for many weeks before, appeared at his attorney's 
private residence, and sent up word that a gentleman wished to 
see him instantly. Before the attorney, who had recognised his 
voice from above stairs, could order the servant to admit him, 
he had rushed up the staircase, and entered the drawing-room 
pale and breathless. Having closed the door, to prevent 
being everheard, he sunk into a chair, and said in a low 
voice — 

“ ‘ Hiksh 1 I have found him at last.’ 

“ ‘ No I’ said the attorney — ‘Well done my dear Sir; well 
done.’ 

“ ‘ He lies concealed in a wi’etched lodging in Camden Town,’ 
said Heyling — ‘ Perhaps it is as well we did lose sight of him, 
for he has been living alone there, in the most abject misery, all 
the time, and he is poor — very poor.’ 

“ ‘ Very good,’ said the attorney — ‘ You will have the cap- 
tion made lo-morrow, of course V 

“ ‘ Yes,’ replied Heyling. ‘ Stay I No I The next day. 
You are suri)rised at my wishing to postpone it,’ he added, 
with a ghastly smile ; ‘ but I had forgotten. The next day is 
an anniversary in his life : let it be done then.’ 

“ ‘ Very good,’ said the attorney — ‘ Will you write down 
instructions for the officer V 

“ ‘ No ; let him meet me here, at eight in the evening, and I 
will accompany liim myself.’ 

“ They met on the appointed night, and, hiring a hackney- 
coach, directed the driver to stop at that corner of the old 
Pancras road, at which stands the parish workhouse. By the 
time they alighted there, it was quite dark ; and, proceeding 
by the dead wall in front of the Veterinary Hospital, they 
entered a small by-street, which is, or was at that time, called 
Little College street, and which, whatever it may be now, was 
ii. those days a desolate place enough, surrounded by little else 
than fields and ditches. 

“ Having drawn the traveling-cap he had on half over his 
face, and muffled himself in his cloak, Heyling stopped before 
the meauest-looking house in the street, and knocked gently at 
the door. It was at once opened by a woman, who dropped a 
curtsy of recognition ; and Heyling, whispering the officer to 


334 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


remain below, crept gently up stairs, and, opening the door of 
the front room, entered at once. 

“ The object of his search and his unrelenting animosity, now 
a decrepit old man, was seated at a bare deal table, on which 
stood a miserable candle. He started on the entrance of the 
stranger, and rose feebly to his feet. 

“ ‘ What now, what now V said the old man — ‘ what fresh 
misery is this ? What do you want here ? 

“ ‘ A word with you,^ replied Heyling. As he spoke, he 
seated himself at the other end of the table, and, throwing off 
his cloak and cap, disclosed his features. 

“ The old man seemed instantly deprived of the power of 
speech. He fell backward in his chair, and, clasping his hands 
together, gazed on the apparition with a mingled look of 
abhorrence and fear. 

‘ This day six years,’ said Heyling, ‘ I claimed the life you 
owed me for my child’s. Beside the lifeless form of your 
daughter, old man, I sw’ore to live a life of revenge. I have 
never swerved from my purpose for a moment’s space ; but if I 
had, one thought of her uncomplaining, suffering look, as she 
drooped away, or of the starving face of our innocent child, 
would have nerved me to my task. My first act of requital 
you well remember; this is my last.’ 

“ The old man shivered, and his hands dropped powerless by 
his side. 

“ I leave England to-morrow,’ said Heyling, after a moment’s 
pause. — ‘ To-night I consign you to the living death to which 
you devoted her — a hopeless prison ’ 

“ He raised his eyes to the old man’s countenance, and 
paused. He lifted the light to his face, set it gently down, and 
left the apartment. 

“ ‘ You had better see the old man,’ he said to the \voman, 
as he opened the door, and motioned the officer to follow him 
into the street — ‘ I think he is ill.’ The woman closed the 
door, ran hastily up stfiirs, and found him lifeless. He had^ 
died in a fit. 

♦ * ♦ ♦ * 

“ Beneath a plain grave-stone, in one of the most peaceful 
and secluded churchyards in Kent, where wild flowers mingle 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


835 


with the grass, and the soft landscape around forms the fairest 
spot in the garden of England, lie the bones of the young 
mother and her gentle child. But the ashes of the father do 
not mingle with theirs ; nor from that night forward, did the 
attorney ever gain the remotest clue to the subsequent history 
of his queer client.’^ 


As the old man concluded his tale, he advanced to a peg in 
one corner, and taking down his hat and coat, put them on 
with great deliberation ; and, without saying another word, 
^walked slowly away. As the gentleman with the Mosaic studs 
had fallen asleep, and the major part of the company were 
deeply occupied in the humorous process of dropping melted 
tallow-grease into his brandy and water, Mr. Pickwick departed 
unnoticed, and having settled his own score, and that of Mr. 
Weller, he issued forth, in company with that gentleman, from 
beueath the portal of the Magpie and Stump. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


MR. PICKWICK JOURNEYS TO IPSWICH, AND MEETS WITH A RO- 
MANTIC ADVENTURE WITH A MIDDLE-AGED LADY IN YELLOW 

CURL PAPERS. 

“ That ^ere your governor’s luggage, Sammy ?” inquired Mr. 
Weller, senior, of his affectionate son, as he entered the yard 
of the Bull Inn, Whitechapel, with a traveling-bag and a small 
portmanteau. 

“You might ha’ made a worser guess than that, old feller,” 
replied Mr. Weller, the younger, setting down his burden 
in the yard, and sitting himself down upon it afterwards. “ The 
governor his-self’ll be down here presently.” 

“ He’s a cabbin’ it, I suppose ?” said the father. 

“ Yes, he’s a havin’ two mile o’ danger at eight-pence,” 
responded the son. “How’s mother-in-law this mornin’ ?” 

“‘^ueer, Sammy, queer,” replied the elder Mr. Weller, with 
impressive gravity. “ She’s been gettin’ rayther in the Mcthod- 
istical order lately, Sammy ; and she’s uncommon pious, to be 
sure. She’s too good a creeter for me, Sammy — I feel I don’t 
deserve her.” 

“ Ah,” said Mr. Samuel, “that’s wery self-denyin’ o’ you.” 

“ Wery,” replied his parent with a sigh. “She’s got hold 
o’ some inwention for grown-up people bein’ born again, Sammy 
— the new birth, I thinks they calls it. I should wery much 
like to see that system hin haction, Sammy. I should wery 
much like to see your mother-in-law born again. Wouldn’t I 
put her out to nurse I” 

“ What do you think them women does t’other day,” con- 
tinued Mr. Weller, after a short pause, during which he had 
significantly struck the side of his nose with his forefinger, some 
half dozen times. “ What do you think they does, t’other day, 
Sammy ?” 

“ Don’t know,” replied Sam, “ what ?” 


( 336 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


S37 


** Goes and gets up a grand tea-drinkin’ for a feller they calls 
their slieplierd,” said Mr. Weller. “ I was a standiii’ starin’ in, 
at the pictur shop down at our place, ven I sees a little hill 
about it; ‘tickets half-a-crown. All, applications to be made t<'» 
the committee. Secretary, Mrs. AVeller;’ and when I got home, 
there was the committee a sittin’ in our back parlor — fourteen 
Women ; I wish you could ha’ heard ’em, Sv*mmy. There they 
was, a passin’ resolutions, and wotin’ sui)plies, and all sorts o’ 
games. Well, what with your mother-in-law a worrying me to 
go, and what with my looking for’ard to seein’ some queer starts 
if I did, I put my name down for a ticket; at six o’clock on 
the Friday evenin’ I dresses myself oni wery smart, and olf I 
goes vith the old ’ooman, and up we walks into a fust floor 
where there was tea-things for thirty, and a whole lot o’ women 
as begins whisperin’ to one another, and lookin’ at me, as if 
they’d never seen a rayther stout gen’im’n of eight-and-lifty 
afore. By-and-by, there comes a great bustle down stairs, and 
a lanky chap with a red nose and white neckcloth rushes up, 
and sings out, ‘ Here’s the shepherd a coming to wisit his faith- 
ful flock;’ and in comes a fat chap in black, vith a great white 
face, a smilin’ avay like clock-work. Such goin’s on, Sammy. 
‘ The kiss of peace,’ says the shepherd ; and then he kissed the 
women all round, and ven he’d done, the man vith the red nose 
began. I was just a thinkin’ whether I hadn’t better l)egin 
too — ’specially as there was a wery nice lady a sittin’ next me — 
ven in comes the tea, and your mother-in-law, as had been 
makiii’ the kettle boil, down stairs. At it they went, tooth and 
nail. Such a precious loud hymn, Sammy, wliile the tea was a 
brewin’; such a grace, such eatin’ and driidvin’. I wish you 
could ha’ seen the shepherd walkin’ into the ham and miiflins. 
I never see such a chap to eat and drink — never. The red 
nosed man warn’t by no means the sort o’ person you’d like to 
grub by contract, but he was nothin’ to the shei)herd. Well, 
arter the tea was over, they sang another hymn, ami then the 
fihcpherd began to preach; and wery veil he diil it, considerin' 
how neavy them muffins must have lied on his chest. Fresently 
be pulls up all of a sudden, and hollers out ‘Where is the sin- 
ner. where is the mis’rable sinner?’ upon which all liie women 
looked at me, and began to groan as if they was dyin’. I 
22 


K88 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


thought it was rather sing’laf, hut hows’ever, I says nothing. 
Presently he pulls up again, and lookin’ wery hard at me, says, 
‘AVliere is the sinner; where is the mis’rable sinner?’ and all 
the women groans again, ten times louder than afore. I got 
rather savage at this, so I takes a step or two for’ard, and says, 
* My friend,’ says I, ‘ did you apply that ’ere ohserwation to 
me?’ — ’Stead o’ beggin’ my pardon as any gen’l’m’n would ha’ 
done, he got more abusive than ever: called me a wessel, Sammy 
i — a wessel of wrath — and all sorts o’ names. So my blood 
being reg’larly up, I first gave him two or three for himself, and 
then two or three more to hand over to the man with the red 
nose, and walked oft*. I wish you could ha’ heard how the wo- 
men screamed, Sammy, ven they picked up the shepherd from 
under the table. Hallo! here’s the governor the size of life.” 

As Mr. Weller spoke, Mr. Pickwick dismounted from a cab, 
and entered the yard. 

** Fine mornin’ Sir,” — said Mr. Weller, senior. 

Beautiful, indeed ” — replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Beautiful, indeed,” echoed a red-haired man with an inquis- 
itive nose and blue spectacles, who had unpacked himself from 
a cab at the same moment as Mr. Pickwick. “Going to Ipswich, 
Sir?” 

“I am,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“Extraordinary coincidence. So am I.” 

Mr. Pickwick bowed. 

“ Going outside ?” said the red-haired man. 

Mr. Pickwick bowed again. 

“ Bless my soul, how remarakble — I am going outside, too,” 
said the red-haired man : “ we are positively going together.” 
And the red-haired man, who was an important-looking, sharp- 
nosed, mysterious-spoken personage, with a bird-like habit of 
giving his head a jerk every time he said anything, smiled as if 
he had made one of the strangest discoveries that ever fell to 
the lot of human wisdom. 

“ I am happy in the prospect of your company. Sir,” said Mr 
Pickwick. 

“ Ah,” said the new-comer, “it’s a good thing for both of us, 
isn’t it? Company, you see — company is — is — it’s a very dif- 
ferent thing from solitude — ain’t it ?” 


ITHE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


389 


“Tliere’s no denyin’ that ’ere,” said Mr. Weller, joining in 
the conversation, with an affable smile. “ That’s what I call a 
self-evident proposition, as the dog’s-meat man said, when the 
house-maid told him he warn’t a gentleman.” 

“ Ah,” said the red-haired man, surveying Mr. Weller from 
head to foot, with a supercilious look. “Friend of yours, 
Sir?’* 

“ Not exactly a friend,” replied Mr. Pickwick, in a low tone. 
“The fact is, he is my servant, but I allow him to take a good 
many liberties ; for, between ourselves, I flatter myself he is an 
original, and I am rather proud of him.” 

“Ah,” said the red-haired man, “that, you see, is a matter of 
taste. I am not fond of anything original ; I don’t like it ; 
don’t see the necessity for it. What’s your name. Sir ?” 

“ Here is my card. Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick, much amused 
by the abruptness of the question, and the singular manner of 
the stranger. 

“ Ah,” said the red-haired man, placing the card in his pocket- 
book, “ Pickwick ; very good. I like to know a man’s name, 
it saves so much trouble. That’s my card. Sir. Magnus, you 
will perceive. Sir — Magnus is my name. It’s rather a good 
name, I think. Sir ?” 

“ A very good name, indeed,” said Mr. Pickwick, wholly 
unable to repress a smile. 

“ Yes, I think it is,” resumed Mr. Magnus. “There’s a good 
name before it, too, yon will observe. Permit me. Sir — if you 
hold the card a little slanting, this way, you catch the light upon 
the up-stroke. There — Peter Magnus — sounds well, I think, 
Sir.” 

“Yery,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Curious circumstance about these initials. Sir,” said Mr. 
Magnus. “You will observe — P. M. — post meridian. In 
hasty notes to intimate acquaintance, I sometimes sign myself 
‘Afternoon.’ It amuses my friends very much, Mr. Pickwick * 

“ It is calculated to afford them the highest gratification, [ 
should conceive,” said Mr. Pickwick, rather envying the ease 
with which Mr. Magnus’s friends were entertained. 

“Now, gen’lm’n,” said the hostler, “coach is ready, if you 
please ” 


840 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Is all my luggage in inquired Mr. M.iguus. 

‘‘All right, Sir.” 

" Is the red bag in ?” 

“All right, Sir.” 

“And the striped bag?” 

“ Fore boot. Sir.” 

“ And the brown-paper parcel ?” 

“ Under the seat, Sir.” 

“ And the leathern hat-box?” 

“ They’re all in. Sir.” 

“Now, will you get up?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Excuse me,” replied Magnus, standing on the wheel. “ Ex- 
cuse me, Mr. Pickwick. I cannot consent to get up, in this 
state of uncertainty. I am quite satisfied from that man’s 
manner, that that leather hat-box is nol in.” 

The solemn protestations of the hostler being wholly unavail- 
ing, the leather hat-box was obliged to be raked up from the 
lowest depth of the boot, to satisfy him that it had been safely 
packed ; and after he had been assured on this head, he felt a 
solemn presentiment, first, that the red bag was mislaid, and 
next, that the striped bag had been stolen, and then that the 
brown-paper parcel had “come untied.” At length when he 
had received ocular demonstration of the groundless nature of 
each and every of these suspicions, he consented to climb up to 
the roof of the coach, observing that now he had taken every 
thing off his mind, he felt quite comfortable and happy. 

“You’re given to nervousness, ain’t you, Sir?” inquired Mr. 
Weller, senior, eyeing the stranger askance, as he mounted to 
his place. 

“Yes; I always am rather, about these little matters,” said 
the stranger, “but I am all right now — quite right.” 

“Well, that’s a blessin’,” said Mr. Weller. “Sammy, help 
your master up to the box: t’other leg. Sir, that’s it; give us 
your hand. Sir. Up with you. You was a lighter weight 
when you was a boy. Sir.” 

“True enough that, Mr. Weller,” said the breathless Mr. 
Pickwick, good-humoredly, us he took his seat on the box 
beside him. 

“Jump up in front, Sammy,” said Mr, Weller. “Now, Vil- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


841 


lam, mn ’em out. Take care o’ the archvay, gen’lm’n. ^TTeads,’ 
as the pieman says. That’ll do, Viliam. Let ’em alone.” 
And away went the coach up Whitechapel, to the admiration 
of the whole po])ulation of that i)retty densely populated quarter. 

“Notawery nice neighborhood this. Sir,” said Sam, with 
the touch of the hat which always preceded his entering into 
conversation with his master. 

“It is not indeed, Sam,” replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the 
crowded and filthy street through which they were passing. 

“It’s a wery remarkable circumstance. Sir,” said Sam, “that 
poverty and oysters always seems to go together.” 

“I don’t understand you, Sam,” saidMr. Pickwick. 

“What I mean, Sir,” said Sam, “is, that the poorer a place 
is, the greater call there seems to be for oysters. Look here, 
Sir; here’s a oyster stall to every half-dozen houses — the street’s 
lined with ’em. Blessed if I don’t think that ven a man’s wery 
poor, he rushes out of his lodgings, and eats oysters in reg’lar 
desperation. ” 

“To be sure he does,” said Mr. Weller, senior, “and it’s just 
the same vith pickled salmon !” 

“Those are two very remarkable facts, which never occurred 
to me before,” said Mr. Pickwick. “The very first place we 
stop at. I’ll make a note of them.” 

By this time they had reached the turnpike at Mile End ; a 
profound silence prevailed, until they had got two or three miles 
further on, when Mr. Weller senior turning suddenly to Mr. 
Pickwick, said — 

“Wery queer life is a pike-keeper’s, Sir.” 

“ A what ?” said Mr. PickwicL 

“A pike-keeper.” 

“What do you mean by a pike-keeper?” inquired Mr. Peter 
Magnus. 

“ The old ’un means a turnpike-keeper, gen’lm’n,” observed 
Mr. Weller, in explanation. 

“Oh,” said Mr. Pickwick, “I see. Yes; very curious life. 
Very uncomfortable.” 

“They’re all on ’em, men as has met vith some disappoint- 
ment in life,” said Mr. Weller, senior. 

“ Ay, ay ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 


342 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


*‘Yes. ^ Consequence of vich, they retires from the world, 
and shuts themselves up in pikes, partly vith the view of bein^ 
solitary, and partly to revvenge themselves ou mankind, by lakiu^ 
tolls.» 

“Dear me,” said Mr Pickwick, “ I never knew that before.” 

“ Fact, Sir,” said Mr. Weller, “ If they was gen’lmhi you’d 
call ’em misanthropes, but as it is they only takes to pike- 
keepin’.” 

With such conversation, possessing the inestimable charm of 
blending amusement with instruction, did Mr. Weller beguile 
the tediousness of the journey, during the greater part of the 
day. Topics of conversation were never wanting, for even 
when ^ny pause occurred in Mr. Weller’s loquacity, it was 
abundantly supplied by the desire evinced by Mr. Magnus to 
make himself acquainted with the whole of the personal history 
of his fellow-travelers, and his loudly expressed anxiety at every 
stage, respecting the safety and well-being of the two bags, the 
leather hat box, and the brown-paper parcel. 

In the main street of Ipswich, on the left-hand side of the 
way, at a short distance after you have passed through the open 
space fronting the town hall, stands an inn known far and 
wdde by the appellation of “ The Great White Horse,” rendered 
the more conspicuous by a stone statue of some ranj))acious 
animal with flowing nuine and tail, distantly resembling an insane 
cart-horse, wMiich is elevated above the principal door. The 
Great White Horse is famous in the neighborhood, in the same 
degree as a prize ox, or a couiity-paper-chronicled turnip, or 
unwieldy pig — for its enormous size. Never were such laby- 
rinths of uncarpeted passages, such clusters of mouldy, badly- 
lighted rooms, such huge numbers of small dens for eating or 
sleeping in, beneath any one roof, as are collected together 
between the four walls of the Great White Horse at Ipswich. 

It was at the door of this overgrown tavern, that the London 
coach stopped, at the same hour every evening; and it w^as from 
this same London coach, that Mr. Pickwick, Sam Weller, and 
Mr. Peter Magnus dismounted, on the ])articular evening to 
which this chapter of our history bears reference. 

“Do you stop here. Sir?” inquired Mr. Peter Magnus, when 
the striped bag, and the red bag; and the brown-paper parcel, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


848 


and the leather hat-box, had all been deposited in the passage. 

D*) yon stop here, Sir 

“i do,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Dear me,” said Mr. Magnus, “I never knew any lliing like 
these extraordinary coincidences. Why, I stop here too. 1 
hope we dine togetlier?” 

“ With pleasure,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “ I am not quite 
certain whether I have any friends here or not, though. Is 
there any gentleman of the name of Tupman liere, waiter 

A corpulent man, with a fortnight’s napkin under his arm, 
and coeval stockings on his legs, slowly desisted from his occu- 
pation of staring down the street, on this question being put to 
him by Mr. Pickwick; and, after minutely inspecting that 
gentleman’s api)earance, from the crown of his hat to the lowest 
button of his gaiters, replied emphatically — 

“No.” 

“Nor any gentleman of the name of Snodgrass?” inquired 
Mr. Pickwick. 

“No!” 

“ Nor Winkle?” 

“No.” 

“ My friends have not arrived to-day, Sir,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick. “We will dine alone, then. Show us a private room, 
waiter.” 

On this request being preferred, the corpulent man conde- 
scended to order the boots to bring in the gentlemen’s luggage, 
and preceding them down a long dark passage, ushered them 
into a large badly-furnished apartment, with a dirty grate, in 
which a small fire was making a wretched attempt to be cheerful, 
but was fast sinking beneath the dispiriting influence of the 
place. After the lapse of an hour, a bit of fish and a steak, 
were served up to the travelers ; and when the dinner was 
cleared away, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Peter Magnus drew their 
chairs up to the fire, and having ordered a bottle of the worst 
possible port wine, at the highest possible price, for the good 
of the house, drank brandy and water for their own. 

Mr. Peter Magnus was naturally of a very communicative 
disposition, and the brandy and water operated with wonderful 
effect in warming into life the deepest hidden secrets of his 


844 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


bosom. After sundry accounts of himself, his family, his con- 
nexions, his friends, his jokes, his business, and his brothers 
fmost talkative men have a great deal to say about their 
brothers), Mr. Peter Magnus took a blue view of Mr. Pickwick 
through his colored spectacles for several minutes, and then said, 
with an air of modesty — 

“ And what do you think — what do you think, Mr. Pickwick 
— I have come down here for 

“Upon my word,” said Mr. Pickwick, “it is wholly impossi- 
ble forme to guess, on business, perhaps.” 

“ Partly right. Sir,” replied Mr. Peter Magnus, “but partly 
wrong, at the same time: try again Mr. Pickwick.” 

“ Really,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ I must throw myself on your 
mercy, to tell me or not, as you may think best ; for I should 
never guess, if I were to try all night.” 

“Why, then, he — he — he — !” said Mr. Peter Magnus, wu'th a 
bashful titter. “ What should you think, Mr. Pickwick, if I had 
come down here, to make a proposal. Sir, eh ? He — he — he I” 

“Think! that you are very likely to succeed,” replied Mr. 
Pickwick, with one of his most beaming smiles. 

“Ah!” said Mr. Magnus, “but do you really think so, Mr. 
Pickwick ? Do you though ?” 

“ Certainly,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ No ; but you’re joking, though.” 

“ I am not, indeed.” 

“AVhy then,” said Mr. Magnus, “to let you into a little 
secret, / think so too. I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Pickwnck, 
although I’m dreadful jealous by nature — horrid — that the lady 
is in this house.” Here Mr. Magnus took off his spectacles, on 
purpose to wink, and then put them on again. 

“ That’s what you w'ere running out of the room for, before 
dinner, then, so often,” said Mr. Pickwick, archly, 

“ Hush — yes, you’re right, that was it; not such a fool as to 
see her, though.” 

“ No !” 

“No; wouldn’t do, you know, after having just come off a 
fouriiey. Wait till to-morrow, Sir; double the chance then. 
Mr. Pickwick, Sir, there is a suit of clothes in that bag, and a 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


845 


hat in that box, which I expect, in the effect they will produce, 
will be invaluable to me. Sir.” 

“ Indeed I” said Mr. Pickwick. 

‘Yes; you must have observed my anxiety about them to- 
day. I do not believe that such another suit of clothes, and 
such a hat, could be bought for money, Mr. Pickwick.” 

Mr. Pickwick congratulated the fortunate owner of the irre- 
sistible garments, on their acquisition ; and Mr. Peter Magnus 
remained for a few moments, apparently absorbed in contem- 
plation. 

“She’s a fine creature,” said Mr. Magnus. 

“ Is she ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Very,” said Mr. Magnus, “very. She lives about twenty 
miles from here, Mr. Pickwick. I heard she would be here to- 
night and all to-morrow forenoon, and came down to seize the 
opportunity. I think an inn is a good sort of place to propose 
to a single woman in, Mr. Pickwick. She is more likely to feel 
the loneliness of her situation in traveling, perhaps, than «he 
would be at home. What do you think, Mr. Pickwick ?” 

“I think it very probable,” replied that gentleman. 

“ I beg your [)ardon, Mr. Pickwick,” said Mr. Peter Magnus, 
“but I am naturally rather curious; what may you have come 
down here for ?” 

“ On a far less pleasant errand, Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick, 
the color mounting to his face at the recollection — “ I nave 
come down here, Sir, to expose the treachery and falsehood of 
an individual, upon whose truth and honor I placed implicit 
reliance.” 

“Dear me,” said Mr. Peter Magnus, “that’s very unplea- 
sant. It is a lady, I presume ? Eh ? ah ! Sly, Mr. PickwicR, 
sly. Well, Mr. Pickwick, Sir, I wouldn’t probe your feelings 
for the world. Painful subjects, these. Sir, very painful. Don’t 
mind me, Mr. Pickwick, if you wish to give vent to your feel- 
ings. I know what it is to be jilted. Sir ; I have endured that 
sort of thing three or four times.” 

“ I am much obliged to you for your condolence on what 
you presume to be my melancholy case,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
winding up his watch, and laying it on the table, “but — ” 

“Ko, no,” giaid Mr. Peter Magnus, “not a word raOriei 


846 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


it‘s a y)ainful subject, I see, I see. What’s the time, Mr. Pick- 
wick ?” 

“Past twelve.” 

“ Dear me, it’s time to go to bed. It will never do sitting 
here. I shall be pale to-morrow, Mr. Pickwick !” 

At the bare notion of such a calamity, Mr. Peter Magnus 
rang the bell for the .chambermaid ; and the striped bag, the red 
bag, the leather hat-box, and the brown-paper parcel, having 
been conveyed to his bedroom, he retired in company with a 
japanned candlestick to one side of the house, while Mr. Pick- 
wick, and another japanned candlestick, were conducted through 
a multitude of tortuous windings, to another. 

“ This is your room, Sir,” said the chambermaid. 

“Very well,” replied Mr. Pickwick, looking round him. It 
was a tolerably large double-bedded room, with a fire ; upon 
the whole, a more comfortable-looking apartment than Mr. 
Pickwick’s short experience of the accommodations of the Great 
White Horse had led him to expect. 

“ Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

“Oh, no. Sir.” 

“Very good. Tell my servant to bring me up some hot 
water at half-past eight in the morning, and that I shall not 
want him any more to-night.” 

“Yes, Sir.” And bidding Mr. Pickwick good night, the 
chambermaid retired, and left him alone. 

Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and 
fell into a train of rambling meditations. First he thought of 
his friends, and wmndered w^hen they would join him ; then his 
mind reverted to Mrs. Martha Bardell ; and from that lady it 
wandered, by a natural process, to the dingy counting-house of 
Dodson and Fogg. From Dodson and Fogg’s it flew off at a 
tangent, to the very centre of the history of the queer client : 
and then it came back to the Great White Horse at Ipswich 
with sufficient clearness to convince Mr. Pickwick that he was 
falling asleep ; so he roused himself, and began to undress, 
when he recollected he had left his watch on the table down 
stairs. 

Now this watch was a special favorite with Mr. Pickwick, 


THE nCKWICK PAPEES. 


84t 


having been carried about, beneath the shadow of his waistcoat, 
for a greater number of years than we feel called upon to state, 
at present. The possibility of going to sleep, unless it were 
ticking gently beneath his pillow, or in the watch-pocket over 
his head, had never entered Mr. Pickwick’s brain. So as it was 
pretty late now, and he was unwilling to ring his bell at that 
hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of which he had just 
divested himself, and taking the japanned candlestick in his hand, 
walked quietly down stairs. 

The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more stairs 
there seemed to be to descend, and again and again, when Mr. 
Pickwick got into some narrow passage, and began to congratu- 
late himself on having gained the ground-floor, did another flight 
of stairs appear before his astonished eyes. At last he reached 
a stone hall, which he remembered to have seen when he entered 
the house. Passage after passage did he explore ; room after 
room did he peep into ; at length, just as he was on the point of 
giving up the search in despair, he opened the door of the iden- 
tical room in which he had spent the evening, and beheld his 
missing property on the table. 

Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded to 
retrace his steps to his bed-chamber. If his progress down- 
wards had been attended with difficulties and uncertainty, his 
journey back was infinitely more perplexing. Rows of doors, 
garnished with boots of every shape, make, and size, branched 
ott' in every possible direction. A dozen times did he softly 
turn the handle of some bedroom door, which resembled his 
own, w'hen a gruff cry from within, of “Who the devil’s that ?” 
or “ What do you want here ?” caused him to steal away, on 
tiptoe, with a perfectly marvelous celerity. He was reduced to 
the verge of despair, when an open door attracted his attention. 
He peejied in — right at last. There were the two beds, whose' 
situation he perfectly remembered, and the fire still burning. 
11 is candle, not a long one when he first received it, had flickered 
away in the drafts of air through which he had passed, and sunk 
into the socket, just as he closed the door after him. “No mat- 
ter,” said Mr. Pickwick, “I can undress myself just as well, by 
the light of the fire.” 

The bedsteaas stood, one on each side of the door; and on 


848 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


the inner side of each was a little path, terminating in a rush- 
bottomed chair, just wide enough to admit of a personas get- 
ting into or out of bed, on tliat side, if he or she thouglit 
proper. Having carefully drawn the curtains of his bed on 
the outside, Mr. Pickwick sat down on the rush-bottomed 
chair, and leisurely divested himself of his shoes and gaiters 
He then took off and folded up his coat, waistcoat, and nec k- 
cloth, and slowly drawing on his tasseled night-cap, secured it 
firmly on his head, by tying beneath his chin the strings which 
he always had attached to that artiele of dress. It was at this 
moment that the absurdity of his recent bewilderment struck 
upon his mind ; and throwing himself back in the rush-bottomed 
chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to himself so heartily, that it 
would have been quite delightful to any man of well-constituted 
mind to have watehed the smiles which expanded his amiable 
features as they shone forth, from beneath the night-cap. 

‘‘ It is the best idea,” said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling 
till he almost cracked the night-cap strings — “ It Is the best 
idea, my losing myself in this place, and wandering about those 
staircases, that I ever heard of. Droll, droll, very droll.” Here 
Mr. Pickwick smiled again, a broader smile than before, and 
was about to continue the process of undressing, in the best 
possible humor, when he was suddenly stopped by a most 
unexpected interruption; to wit, the entrance into the room 
of some person with a candle, who, after locking the door, ad- 
vanced to the dressing-table, and set down the light upon it. 

The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick’s features, was in- 
stantaneously lost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder- 
stricken surprise. The person, whoever it was, had come in so 
suddenly and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick had no 
time to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who could it be ? 
A robber 1 Some evil-minded person who had seen him come 
up stairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. What 
was he to do ? 

The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse 
of his mysterious visitor, with the least danger of being seen 
himself, was by creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from 
between the curtains on the opposite side. To this manoeuvre 
he accordingly resorted* Keeping the curtains carefully closed 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


849 


with his hand, so that nothing more of him could be seen tnan 
his face and night-cap, and putting on his spectacles, he mus- 
tered up courage, and looked out. 

Mr. Pi<tkwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. 
Standing before the dressing-glass was a middle-aged lady in 
yellow curl-papers, busily engaged in brushing what ladies call 
their “back-hair.” However the unconscious middle-aged 
lady came into that room, it was quite clear that she contem- 
plated remaining there for thenignt; for she had brought a 
rush-light and shade with her, which, with praiseworthy pre- 
caution against fire, she had stationed in a basin on the floor, 
where it was glimmering away, like a gigantic lighthouse, in a 
particularly small piece of water. 

“ Bless my soul,” thought Mr. Pickwick, “ what a dreadful 
thing I” 

“ Hem I” said the lady ; and in went Mr. Pickwick’s head 
with automaton-like rapidity. 

“ I never met with any thing so awful as this,” — thought 
poor Mr. Pickwick, the cold perspiration starting in drops upon 
his nightcap. “Never. This is fearful.” 

It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what 
^vas going forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick’s head again. 
The j)rospect was worse than before. The middle-aged lady 
had finished arranging her hair ; and carefully enveloped it in 
a muslin night-cap with a small plaited border, and was gazing 
pensively on the fire. 

“ This matter is growing alarming” — ^reasoned Mr. Pickwick 
with himself. “ I can’t allow things to go on in this way. By 
the self-possession of that lady, it’s clear to me that I must have 
come into the wrong room. If I call out, she’ll alarm the 
house, but if I remain here, the consequences will be still more 
frightful.” 

Mr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one of the 
most modest and delicate-minded of mortals. The very idea 
of exhibiting his night-cap to a lady, overpowered him, but he 
had tied those confounded strings in a knot, and do \^•hat he 
would, he couldn’t get it off. The disclosure must be made. 
There was only one other way of doing it. He shrunk behind 
the curtains, and called out very loudly, 


860 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ Ha — ^hura.” 

That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident, 
by her falling up against the rush-light shade ; that she persiiaded 
nerself it must have been the effect of imagination was equally 
clear, for when Mr. Pickwick, under the impression that she 
had fainted away, stone-dead from fright, ventured to peep 
out again, she was gazing pensively on the fire as before. 

“ Most extraordinary female this,” thought Mr. Pickwick, 
popping in again. “Ha — hum.’’ 

These last sounds, so like those in which, as legends inform 
us, the ferocious giant Blunderbore was in the habit of ex- 
pressing his opinion that it was time to lay the cloth, were too 
distinctly audible to be again mistaken for the workings of 
fancy. 

“Gracious Heaven I” said the middle-aged lady, “what’s 
that 1” 

“ It’s — it’s — only a gentleman. Ma’am,” said Mr. Pickwick 
from behind the curtains. 

“ A gentleman I” said the lady with a terrific scream. 

“It’s all over,” thought Mr. Pickwick. 

“A strange man,” shrieked the lady. Another instant and 
the house would be alarmed. Her garments rustled as she 
rushed towards the door. 

“ Ma’am” — said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head, in the 
extremity of his desperation, “ Ma’am.” 

Now although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any 
definite object in putting out his head, it was instantaneously 
productive of a good effect. The lady, as we have already 
stated, was near the door. She must pass it to reach the stair- 
case, and she would most undoubtedly have done so, by this 
time, had not the sudden apparition of Mr. Pickwick’s night-cap 
driven her back, into the remotest corner of the apartment, 
where she stood staring wildly at Mr. Pickwick, while Mr 
Pickwick in his turn stared wildly at her. 

“ Wretch,” — said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands 
“ what do you want here ?” 

“ Nothing, Ma’am — nothing whatever. Ma’am said Mr. 
Pickwick, earnestl)". 

** Nothing I” said the lady, looking up. 


THE PICKAVICK PAPERS. 


m 


“N'othing, Ma’am, upon my honor,” said Mr. Pickwick, nod- 
ding liis liead so energetically, that the tassel of his night-Cap 
danced again. “ I am almost ready to sin»k. Ma’am, beneath 
the confusion of addressing a lady in my night-cap (here the 
lady hastily snatched off her’s) but I can t get it off. Ma’am, 
(here Mr. Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug in proof of the 
statement.) It is evident to me. Ma’am, now, that I have mis- 
taken this bedroom for my own. I had not been here five 
minutes. Ma’am, when you suddenly entered it.” 

“If this improbable story be really true. Sir” — said the lady, 
sobbing violently, “you will leave it instantly.” 

“ I will. Ma’am, with the greatest pleasure” — replied Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“ Instantly, Sir,” said the lady. 

“ Certainly, Ma’am,” interposed Mr. Pickwick, very quickly. 
“Certainly, Ma’am. I — I — am very sorry. Ma’am,” said Mr. 
Pickwick, making his appearance at the bottom of the bed, “ to 
have been the innocent occasion of this alarm and emotion ; 
deeply sorry. Ma’am.” 

The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr. 
Pickwick’s character was , beautifully displayed at this moment 
under the most trying circumstances. Although he had hastily 
put on his hat over his night-cap, after the manner of the old 
patrol ; although he carried his shoes and gaiters in his hand, 
and his coat and waistcoat over his arm, nothing could s^ibdue 
his native politeness. 

“ I am exceedingly sorry. Ma’am,” said Mr. Pickwick, b^nving 
very low. 

“ If you are, Sir, you will at once leave the room,” said the 
lady. 

“ Immediately, Ma’am ; this instant. Ma’am,” said Mr. J’ick- 
wick, oi)ening the door, and dropping both his shoes wi^h a 
loud crash in so doing. 

“ I trust. Ma’am,” resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering ii]) his 
hoes, and turning round to bow again, “I trust, j\Ia’am, that 
my unblemished character, and the devoted respect I entertain for 
your sex, will plead as some slight excuse for this” — but before 
Mr. Pickwick could conclude the sentence, the lady had thrust 


362 


THE PICKWICK PiPERS. 


him into the passage, and locked and bolted the door behir.d 
him. 

AV’^hatever grounds of self-congratulation Mr. Pickwick might 
have, for having escaped so quietly from his late awkward situ- 
ation, his present position was by no means enviable. lie was 
alone, in an open passage, in a strange house, in the middle of 
the night, half-dressed ; it was not to be supposed that he could 
find his way in perfect darkness to a room which he had been 
wholly unable to discover with a light, and if he made the 
slightest noise in his fruitless attempts to do so, he stood every 
chance of being shot at, and perhaps killed, by some wakeful 
traveler. He had no resource but to remain where he was, 
until daylight appeared. So after groping his way a few paces 
down the passage, and, to his infinite alarm, stumbling over 
several pairs of boots in so doing, Mr. Pickwick crouched into 
a little recess in the wall to wait for morning as philosophically 
as he might. 

He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional 
trial of patience : for he had not been long ensconced in his 
present concealment when, to his unspeakable horror, a man, 
bearing a lifi:ht, appeared at the end of the passage. His 
horror was suddenly converted into joy, however, when he 
recognised the form of his faithful attendant. It was indeed 
Mr. Samuel Weller, who, after sitting up thus late, in con- 
versation with the boots, who was sitting up for the mail, was 
now about to retire to rest. 

“ Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly appearing before him, 
“ where is my bedroom ?” 

Mr. Weller stared at his master with the most emphatic sur- 
prise ; and it was not until the question had been repeated three 
several times, that he turned round, and led the way to the 
long-sought apartment. 

“ Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick as he got into bed, “ I have made 
one of the most extraordinary mistakes to-night, that ever was 
heard of. ” 

“ Wery likely, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller, drily. 

“Baton this I am determined, Sam,” said Mr. P'ckwick ; 
“that if I were to stop in this house for six mouths, I would 
never trust myself about it, alone, again.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


858 


** That’s the wery prudentest resolution as you could come to. 
Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. “ You rayther want somebody to look 
arter you, Sir, ven your judgment goes out a wisitin’.” 

“ What do you mean by that, Sam ?” said Mr. Pickwick 
He raised himself in bed, and extended his hand, as if he were 
about to say something more ; but suddenly checking himself, 
turned round, and bade his valet “good night.” 

“ Good night. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. He paused when 
he got outside the door — shook his head — walked on — stopped 
— snuffed the candle — shook his head a^n — and finally uro- 
ceeded slowly to his chamber, apparently buried in the pro- 
foundest meditation. 

23 


CHAPTER XXIY. 


IN WHICH MR. SAMUEL WELLER BEGINS TO DEVOTE HIS ENER- 
GIES TO THE RETURN MATCH BETWEEN HIMSELF AND MB. 

TROTTER. 

In a small room ilfrtlie vicinity of the stablc-yard, betimes in 
the morning, which was ushered in by Mr. Pickwick’s adventure 
with the middle-aged lady in the yellow curl-papers, sat Mr. 
Weller, senior, preparing himself for his journey to London. 
He was sitting in an excellent attitude for having his portrait 
taken ; and here it is. 

It is very possible that at some earlier period of his career, 
Mr. Weller’s profile might have presented a bold and deter- 
mined outline. His face, however, had expanded under the 
influence of good living, and a disposition remarkable for resig- 
nation ; and its bold, fleshy curves had so far extended beyond 
the limits originally assigned them, that unless you took a full 
view of his countenance in front, it was difficult to distin- 
guish more than the extreme tip of a very rubicund nose. 
His chin, from the same cause, had acquired the grave and 
imposing form which is generally described by prefixing the 
word “ double” to that expressive feature, and his complexion 
exhibited that peculiarly mottled combination of colors which is 
only to be seen in gentlemen of his profession, and underdone 
roast-beef. Round his neck he wore a crimson traveling shawl, 
which merged into his chin by such imperceptible gradations, 
that it was difficult to distinguish the folds of the one, from the 
folds of the other. Over this, he mounted a long waistcoat of 
a broad pink-striped pattern, and over that again, a wide-skirted 
green coat, ornamented with large brass buttons, whereof the 
two which garnished the waist, wmre so far apart, that no man 
had ever beheld them both at the same time. His hair, which 
was short, sleek, and black, was just visible beneath the ca- 
pacious brim of a low-crowned brow’ii hat. His legs were 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


855 


encased in knee-cord breeches and painted top-boots : and a 
copper watch-chairi terminating in one seal, and a key of the* 
game material, dangled loosely from his capacious waist-band 

We have said that Mr. Weller was engaged in preparing for 
his jouruey-to Loudon — he was taking sustenance, in fact. Uu 
the table before him stood a pot of ale, a cold round of beef, 
niid a very respectable-looking loaf, to each of which he dis- 
tributed his favors in turn, with the most rigid imparti lUty. 
He had just cut a mighty slice from the latter, when the foot- 
steps of somebody entering the room, c^sed him to raise his 
head ; and he beheld his sou. 

“ Mornin’, Sammy,” said the father. 

The son walked up to the pot of ale, and nodding significantly 
to his parent, took a long draught l>y the way of reply. 

“ Wery good power o’ suction, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller the 
elder, looking into the pot, when his first-born had set it down 
half empty. “You’d ha’ made an uncommon fine oyster, 
Sammy, if you’d been born in that station o’ life.” 

“ Yes, I des-say I should ha’ managed to pick up a respect- 
able livin’,” replied Sam, applying himself to the cold beef, 
with considerable vigor. 

“ I am wery soiny, Sammy,” said the elder Mr. Weller, shak- 
ing up the ale, by describing small circles with the pot, prepa- 
ratory to drinking. “ I’m wery sorry, Sammy, to hear from 
your lips, as you let yourself be gammoned by that ’ere mul- 
berry-man. I always thouglit, up to three days ago, that the 
names of Veller and gammon could never come into contact, 
Sammy — never.” 

“ Always exceptin’ the case of a widder, of course,” said 
Sara. 

“Widders. Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller, slightly changing 
color; “widdeis are ’ceptions to ev’ry rule. I ham heerd 
how many ord’nary women one widder’s equal to, in pint o’ 
coinin’ over you. I think it’s five-and-twenty, but I don’t rightly 
know vether it ain’t more.” 

“ Well ; that’s pretty well,” said Sam. 

“Lesides,” continued Mr. Weller, not noticing the interrup- 
tion, “ that’s a wery different thing. You know what the coun- 
sel said, Sammy, as defended the gen’l’m’u as beat his wife with 


856 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


the poker, venever he got jolly. * And arter all, my lord, says 
he, ‘it’s a amiable weakness.’ So I says respectin’ widders, 
Sammy, and so you’ll say, ven you gets as old as I am.” 

“ I ought to ha’ know’d better, I know,” said Sam. 

“Ought to ha’ know’d better !” repeated Mr. Weller, striking 
the table with his fist. “Ought to ha’ know’d better! why, I 
know a young ’uu as hasn’t had half nor quarter your eddica* 
tion — as hasn’t slept about the markets, no, not six months — 
who’d ha’ scorned to be let in, in such a vay; scorned it, 
Sammy.” In the excitement of feeling produced by this ago- 
nising reflection, Mr. Weller rang the bell, and ordered an addi- 
tional pint of ale. 

“Well, it’s no use talking about it now,” said Sam. “It’s 
over, and can’t be helped, and that’s one consolation, as they 
alvays says in Turkey, ven they cuts the wrong man’s head off. 
It’s my innings now, gov’rnor, and as soon as I catches hold o’ 
this here Trotter, I’ll have a good ’un.” 

“ I hope you will, Sammy. I hope yon will,” returned Mr. 
Weller. “Here’s your health, Sammy, and may you speedily 
vipe off the disgrace as you’ve inflicted on the family name.” 
In honor of this toast ^Ir. Weller imbibed at a draught, at least 
two-thirds of the newly-arrived pint, and handed it over to his 
son, to dispose of the remainder, which he instantaneously did. 

“ And now, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, consulting the large 
double-cased silver watch that hung at the end of the copper 
chain. “Now it’s time I was up at the office to get my vay- 
bill, and see the coach loaded ; for coaches, Sammy, is like guns 
— they requires to be loaded with wery great care afore they 
go off.” 

At this parental and professional joke, Mr. Weller, junior, 
smiled a filial smile. His revered parent continued iu a solemn 
tone — 

“ I’m a goin’ to leave you, Samivel, my boy, and there’s no 
telling ven I shall see you again. Your mother-in-law may ha’ 
been too much for me, or a thousand things may have happened 
by the time you ne.xt hears any news o’ the celebrated Mr. 
Veller o’ the Bell Savage. The family name depends wery much 
upon you, Samivel, and I hope you’ll do wet’s right by it. 
Upon all little points o’ breedin’. I know I may trust you as 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


857 


veil as if it was my own self. So I’ve only this here one little 
bit of adwice to give you. If ever you gets to up’ards o’ fifty, 
aud feels disposed to go a marryiii’ any body — no matter who — 
jlst you shut yourself up in your own room, if you’ve got one, 
and pison yourself off hand. Ilangin’s wulgar, so don’t you 
have nothin’ to say to that. Pison yourself, Samivel, my boy, 
pisoii yourself, and you’ll be glad on it arterwards.” With 
these affecting words, Mr. Weller looked steadfastly on his 
son, and turning slowly upon his heel, disappeared from his 
sight. 

In the contemplative mood which these words had awakened, 
Mr. Samuel Weller walked forth from the Great White Horse 
when his father had left him ; and bending his steps towards Saint 
Clement’s Church, endeavored to dissipate his melancholy, by 
strolling among its ancient precincts. He had loitered about, 
for some time, when he found himself in a retired spot — a kind 
of court-yard of venerable ap})earance — which he discovered 
had no other outlet than the turning by which he had entered. 
He was about retracing his steps, when he was suddenly trans- 
fixed to the spot by a sudden aj)pearance; aud the mode and 
manner of this appearance, we now proceed to ixdate. 

Mr. Samuel Weller had been staring up at the old red brick 
houses; now and then, in his deep abstraction, bestowing a 
wink ujvon some healthy looking servant-girl as she drew up a 
blind, or threw open a bedroom window, when the green gate of 
a garden, at the bottom of the yard, opened, and a man, having 
emerged therefrom, closed the green gate very carefully after 
him, and walked briskly towards the very spot where Mr. Weller 
was standing. 

Now taking this, as an isolated fact, unaccompanied by any 
attendant circumstances, there was nothing very extraordinary 
in it, because in many parts of the world, men do come out 
of gardens, close green gates after them, and even walk 
briskly away, without attracting any particular share of pub- 
lic observation. It is clear, therefore, that there must have 
been something in the man, or in his manner, or botli, to 
attract Mr. Weller’s particular notice. Whether there was, 
or not. we must leave the reader to determine, when wo 


368 TH?: PICKWICK PAPERS 

have faithfully recounted the behavior of the individual in 
question. 

When the man had shut the green gate after nim, he 
walked, as we have said twice already, with a brisk pace up 
the court-yard ; but he no sooner caught sight of Mr. AVeller, 
than he faltered, and stopped, as if uncertain for a moment 
what course to adopt. As the green gate was closed behind 
him, and there was no other outlet but the one in front, how- 
ever, he was not long in perceiving that he must pass Mr. 
Samuel Weller to get away. He therefore resumed his brisk 
pace, and advanced, staring straight before him. The most 
extraordinary thing about the man was, that he was contort- 
ing his face into the most fearful and astonishing grimaces that 
ever were beheld. Nature’s handiwork never was disguised 
with such extraordinary artificial carving, as the man had over- 
laid his countenance with in one moment. 

“ Well,” — said Mr. Weller to himself, as the man ap- 
proached. “ This is wery odd. I could ha’ swore it was 
him.” 

Up came the man, and his face became more frightfully dis- 
torted than ever, as he drew nearer. 

“ I could take my oath to that ’ere black hair, and mulberry 
suit,” said Mr. Weller ; “ only I never see such a face as that, 
afore.” 

As ’Mr. Weller said this, the man’s features assumed an 
unearthly twinge; perfectly hideous. He was obliged to pass 
very near Sam, however, and the scrutinising glance of that 
gentleman enabled him to detect, under all these appalling 
twists of feature, something too like the small eyes of Mr. Job 
Trotter, to be easily mistaken. 

** Hallo, you Sir,” shouted Sam, fiercely. 

The stranger stopped. 

Hallo,” repeated Sam, still more gruffly. 

The man with the horrible face, looked, with the greatest 
surprise, up the court, and down the court, and in at the win- 
dows of the houses — every where but at Sam Weller — and took 
another step forward, when he Avas brought to again, by ano- 
ther shout. 

** Hallo, you Sir” — said Sam, for the third time. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


869 


There was no pretending to mistake where the voice cnme 
from now, so the stranger, ha'ving no other resource, at last 
looked Sam Weller full in the face. 

“ It won’t do. Job Trotter,” said Sam. “ Come, nr>r.e o’ 
that ’ere nonsense. You ain’t so wery ’ansome that you can 
afford to throw avay many o’ your good looks. Bring them 
’ere eyes o’ your’n back into their proper places, or I’ll knock 
’em out of your head. D’ye hear ?” 

As Mr. Weller appeared fully disposed to act up to the spirit 
of this address, Mr. Trotter gradually allowed his face to 
resume its natural expression ; and then giving a start of joy, 
exclaimed, “ What do I see ? Mr. Walker I” 

“Ah,” replied Sam — “you’re wery glad to see me, ain’t 
you ?” ^ 

“ Glad !” exclaimed Job Trotter — “ Oh, Mr. Walker, if you 
had but known how I have looked forward to this meeting I 
It is too much, Mr. Walker; I cannot bear it, indeed I can- 
not.” And with these words, Mr. Trotter burst into a regular 
inundation of tears, and, flinging his arms round those of 
Mr. Weller, embraced him closely, in an ecstasy of joy. 

“ Get off,” cried Sam, highly indignant at this process, and 
vainly endeavoring to extricate himself from the grasp of his 
enthusiastic acquaintance — “ Get off, I tell you. AVliat are 
you crying over me for, you portable ingine ?” 

“Because I am so glad to see you,” replied Job Trotter, 
gradually releasing Mr. Weller, as the first symptoms of his 
pugnacity disappeared. “ Oh, Mr. Walker, this is too much.” 

“ Too much !” echoed Sam, “ I think it is too much — ray- 
ther. Now what have you got to say to me, eh ?” 

Air Trotter made no reply ; for the little pink pocket- 
handkerchief was in full force. 

“ What have you got to say to me, afore I knock your head 
ofl’?” repeated Mr. Weller, in a threatening manner. 

“ Eh !” said Air. Trotter, with a look of virtuous surprise. 

“ What have you got to say to me ?” 

“ I, Air. Walker !” 

“ Don’t call me A^alker; my name’s Teller; you know that 
veil enough. What have you got to say to me ?” 

“ Bless you, Air. Walker — Weller I mean — a great many 


350 THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

thinj^s, if you will come away somewhere, where we can talk 
comfortably. If you knew how I have looked for you, Mr. 
Weller—” 

“Wery hard, indeed, I s’pose?” said Sam, drily. 

•‘Very, very, Sir,” replied Mr. Trotter, without moving a 
lUHscle of his face. — “But shake hands, Mr. Weller.” 

Sara eyed his companion for a few seconds, and then, as if 
actuated by a sudden impulse, complied with his request. 

“How,” said Job Trotter, as they walked away — “How is 
your dear, good master ? Oh, he is a worthy gentleman, Mr. 
Weller. I hope he didn’t catch cold that dreadful night. Sir.” 

There was a momentary look of deep slyness in Job Trotter’s 
eye, as he said this, which ran a thrill through Mr. Weller’s 
clenched fist, ns he burnt with a desire to make a demonstration 
on his ribs. Sara constrained himself, however, and replied that 
his master was e.xtremely well. 

“Oh, I am so glad,” replied Mr. Trotter, “is he here?” 

“ Is your’n ?” asked Sam, by way of reply. 

“Oh, yes,. he is here, and I grieve to say, Mr. Weller, he is 
going on worse than ever.” 

“Ah, ah ?” said Sam. 

“Oh, shocking — terrible.” 

“ At a boarding-school ?” said Sara. 

“No, not at a boarding-school,” replied Job Trotter, with 
the same sly look which Sam had noticed before — “Not at a 
b-^arding-school.” 

“At the house with the green gate?” inquired Sara, eyeing 
h‘s companioji closely. 

“No, no — oh, not there,” replied Job, with a quickness very 
unusual to him, “not there.” ^ 

“What was you a doin’ there?” asked Sam, with a sharp 
glance — “Got inside the gate by accident, perhaps?” 

“Why, Mr. Weller,” replied Job, “I don’t mind telling you 
my little secrets, because you know we took such a fancy for 
each other when we first met. You recollect how pleasant 
we were that morning?” 

“Oh yes,” said Sam, impatiently — “I remember. Well.” 

“Well,” replied Job, speaking with great precision, and in 
the low tone of a man who communicates an important secret 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


861 


— “In that house with the green gate, Mr. Weller, they keep a 
good many servants.” 

“ So I should think, from the look on it,” interposed Sam. 

“Yes,” continued Mr. Trotter, “and one of them is a cook, 
who has saved up a little money, Mr. Weller, and is desirous, 
if she can establish herself in life, to open a little shop in the 
chandlery way, you see.” 

“Yes.” 

“Yes, Mr. Weller. Well, Sir, I met her at a chapel that I 
go to — a very neat little chapel in this town, Mr. Weller, where 
they sing the number four collection of hymns, which I gen- 
erally carry about with me, in a little book, which you may per- 
haps have seen in my hand — and I got a little intimate with her, 
Mr. Weller, and from that, an acquaintance sprung up between 
us, and T may venture to say, Mr. Weller, that I am to be the 
chandler.” 

“Ah, and a wery amiable chandler you’ll make,” replied 
Sara, eyeing Job with a side look of intense dislike. 

“The great advantage of this, Mr. Weller,” continued Job, 
his eyes filling with tears as he spoke, “ will be, that I shall be 
able to leave my present disgraceful service with that bad man, 
and to devote myself to a better and more virtuous life — more 
like the way in which I was brought up, Mr. Weller.” 

“You must ha’ been wery nicely brought up,” said Sam. 

“Oh, very, Mr. Weller, very,” replied Job; and at the recol- 
lection of tlie purity of his yr^uthful days, Mr. Trotter pulled 
forth the pink handkerchief and wept copiously. 

“You must ha’ been an uncommon nice boy, to go to school 
vith,” said Sam. 

“I was. Sir,” replied Job, heaving a deep sigh. “I was the 
idol of the place.” 

“ Ah,” said Sam, “ I don’t wonder at it. What a comfort 
you must ha’ been to your blessed mother !” 

At these words, Mr. Job Trotter inserted an end of the pink 
handkerchief into the corner of each eye, one after the other, 
and began to weep copiously. 

“ Vhat’s the matter vith the man,” said Sam, indignantly. 
“Chelsea waterworks is nothin’ to you. What are you melting 
vith now — the consciousness o’ willany ?” 


862 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


cannot keep my feelings down, Mr. Weller,” said Job, 
after a short pause. “ To think that my master should liave 
suspected the conversation I had with yours, and so dragged 
me away in a post-chaise, aid after persuading the sweet young 
lady to say she knew nothing of him, and bribing the school- 
mistress to do the same, deserted her for a better speculation, 
—oh I Mr. Weller, it makes me shudder.” 

‘ Oh, that was the vay was it ?” said Mr. Weller. 

“To be sure it was,” replied Job. 

“Veil,” said Sam, as they had now arrived near the hotel, 
“ I vant to have a little bit o’ talk with you. Job ; so if you’re 
not partickler, I should like to see you at the Great White 
Horse to-night somewheres about eight o’clock.” 

“I shall be sure to come,” said Job. 

“ Yes, you’d better,” replied Sam, with a very meaning look, 
“ or else I shall perhaps be asking arter you, at the other side 
of the green gate, and then I might cut you out, you know.” 

“ I shall be sure to be with you,” said Mr. Trotter ; and 
wringing Sam’s hand with the utmost fervor, he walked away. 

“Take care. Job Trotter, take care,” said Sam, looking after 
him, “or I shall be one too many for you this time, I shall, 
indeed.” Having uttered this soliloquy, and looked after Job 
till he was to be seen no more, Mr. Weller made the best of his 
way to his master’s bedrooml 

“ It’s all in training. Sir,” said Sam. 

“ What’s in training, Sam ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ I have found ’em out, Sir,” said Sam. 

“ Found out who ?” 

“ That ’ere queer customer, and the melan-cholly chap with 
the black hair.” 

“ Impossible, Sam !” said Mr. Pickwick, with the greatest 
energy — “ Where are they Sam ; where are they ?” 

“Hush, hush !” replied Mr. AV’eller : and as he assisted Mr. 
Pickwick to dress, he detailed the plan of action on which he 
proposed to enter. 

“Ihit when is this to be done, Sam ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“All in good time. Sir,’ replied Sam. 

Whether it was done in good time, or not, will be seen here- 
after. 


CII :VrTER XXY. 


WHEREIN MR. PETER MAGNUS GROWS JEALOUS, AND THE MIDDLE- 

AGED LADY APPREHENSIVE, WHICH BRINGS THE PICKMICIUANS 

WITHIN THE GRASP OF THE LAW. 

When Mr. Pickwick descended to the room in which he and 
Mr. Peter Magnus had spent the preceding evening, he found 
that gentleman with the major part of the contents of the two 
bags, tlie leathern hat-bo.x, and the brown -paper parcel, displayed 
to all possible advantage on his person, while he himself was 
pacing up and down the room in a state of the utmost excite- 
ment and agitation. 

“Good morning. Sir,” said Mr. Peter Magnus — “What do 
you think of this, Sir ?” 

“Very elfcctive, indeed,” replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the 
garments of Mr. Peter Magnus with a good-natured smile. 

“ Ves, I think it’ll do,” said Mr. Magnus. “Mr. Pickwick, 
Sir, I have sent up my card.” 

“ Have you ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Ves; and the waiter brought back word that she would see 
me at eleven — at eleven. Sir; it only wants a quarter now.” 

“ Very near the time,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Ves, it is rather near, “replied Mr. Magnus” rather too near 
to be i)!easant — eh I Mr. Pickwick, Sir?” 

“ Coulidence is a great thing in these cases,” observed Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“ I believe it is. Sir,” said Mr. Peter Magnus. “I am very 
confident, Sir. Really, Mr. Pickwick, I do not see why a man 
sh )uld feel any fear in such a case as this. Sir. What is it, 
Sir ? Tiiere’s nothing to l)e ashamed of; it’s a matter of mutual 
•iccoinmodation, nothing more. llusl)and on one side, wife on 
the other.' That’s my view of the matter, Mr. Pickwick.” 

‘ It is a very philo.so})hieal one,” replied ^fr. Pickwick. 
“ But breakfast is waiting, Mr. Magnus. Come.” 

Down they sat to breakfast, but it was evident, notwithstand- 

( 363 ) 


864 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


ing the boasting of Mr. Peter Magnus, that he labored under a 
very considerable degree of nervousness, of which loss of appe- 
tite, a propensity to upset the tea-things, a spectral attempt at 
drollery and an irresistible inclination to look at the clock every 
other second, were among the principal symptoms. 

“ lie — he — he,” tittered Mr. Magnus, affecting cheerfulness 
and gasping with agitation. It only wants two minutes, xUr. 
Pickwick. Am I pale, Sir ?” 

“ Not very,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

There was a brief pause. 

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick; but have you ever done 
this sort of thing in your time?” said Mr. Magnus. 

“ Y ou mean proposing ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Never,” said Mr. Pickwick, with great energy, “never.” 

“You have no idea, then, how it’s best to begin?” said 
Mr. Magnus. 

“Why,” said Mr. Pickwick, “I may have formed some ideas 
upon the subject, but as I have never submitted them to the test 
of experience, I should be sorry if you were induced to regu- 
late your proceedings by them.” 

“I should feel very much obliged to you, for any advice, Sir,” 
said Mr. Magnus, taking another look at the clock, the hand of 
which was verging on the five minutes past. 

“Well, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, with the profound solemnity 
with which that great man could, when he pleased, render his 
remarks so deeply impressive — “ I should commence. Sir, with 
a tribute to the young lady’s beauty and excellent qualities ; 
from them. Sir, I should diverge to my unworthiness.” 

“Very good,” said Mr. Magnus. 

“Unworthiness for her only, mind, Sir,” resumed Mr. Pick- 
wick; “for to show that I was not wholly unworthy. Sir, 1 
should take a brief review of my past life, and present condi- 
tion. I should argue, by analogy, that to any body else, I must 
be a very desirable object. I should then expatiate on the 
warmth of my love, and the depth of my devotion. Perhaps 1 
might then be tempted to seize her hand.” 

“Yes, I see,” said Mr. Magnus; “that would a very great 
point.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


866 


"I should then, Sir,’^ continued Mr. Pickwick, growing 
wnrraer as the subject presented itself in more glowing colors 
before him — “ I should then. Sir, come to the plain and simple 
question, ‘ Will you have me ?’ I think I am justified in assum- 
ing that upon this, she would turn away her head.’’ 

“ You think that may be taken for granted?” said Mr. Mag- 
nus ; “ because if she did not do that at the right place, it would 
be embarrassing.” 

“I think she would,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Upon this, Sir, 
1 should squeeze her hand, and I think — I think, Mr. Magnus 
— that after I had done that, supposing there was no refusal, I 
should gently draw away the handkerchief, which my slight 
knowledge of human nature leads me to suppose the lady would 
be applying to her eyes at the moment, and steal a respectful 
kiss. I think I should kiss her, Mr. Magnus, and at this par- 
ticular point, I am decidedly of opinion that if the lady were 
going to take me at all, she would murmur into my ear a bash- 
ful acceptance.” 

Mr. Magnus started; gazed on Mr. Pickwick’s intelligent 
face for a short time in silence, and then (the dial pointing to 
the ten minutes past) shook him warmly by the hand, and rushed 
desperately from the room. 

Mr. Pickwick had taken a few strides to and fro; and the 
small hand of the clock, following the latter part of his example, 
had arrived at the figure which indicates the half hour, when 
the door suddenly opened. lie turned round to greet Mr. Petei 
Magnus, and encountered in his stead the joyous face of Mr. 
Tupman, the serene countenance of Mr. Winkle, and the intel- 
lectual lineaments of Mr. Snodgrass. 

As Mr. Pickwick greeted them, Mr. Peter Magnus tripped 
into the room. 

“ My friends, the gentleman I was speaking of, Mr. Magnus,” 
said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Your servant, gentlemen,” said Mr. Magnus, evidently in a 
high state o^ excitement; “Mr. Pickwick, allow me to speak 
to you one moment. Sir.” 

As he said this, Mr. Magnus harnessed his forefinger to Mr. 
Pickwick’s buttou-hole, and drawing him into a window-recess, 
said — 


see 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ Congratulate me, Mr. Pickwick; I followed your adme to 
the very letter.” 

“ And it was all correct, was it ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“It was. Sir — could not possibly have been better,” replied 
Mr. Magnus; “Mr. Pickwick, she is mine.” 

“ I congratulate you, with all my heart,” replied Mr. Pick- 
wick, warmly shaking his new friend by the hand. 

“You must see her. Sir,” said Mr. Magnus; “this way, if 
you please. Excuse us for one instant, gentlemen.” And hur- 
rying on in this way, Mr. Peter Magnus drew Mr. Pickwick 
from the room. He paused at the next door in the passage, 
and tapped gently thereat. 

“ Come in,” said a female voice. And in they went. 

“Miss Witherfield,” said Mr. Magnus, “allow me to intro- 
duce my very particular friend, Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick, 
I beg to make you known to Miss Witherfield.” 

The lady was at the upper end of the room, and as Mr. Pick- 
wick bowed, he took his spectacles from his waistcoat pocket, 
and put them on, a process which he had no sooner gone through, 
than, uttering an exclamation of surprise, Mr. Pickwick re- 
treated several paces, and the lady, with a half-suppressed 
scream, hid her face in her hands, and dropped into a chair ; 
whereupon Mr. Peter Magnus was struck motionless on the 
spot, and gazed from one to the other, with a countenance ex- 
pressive of the extremities of horror and surprise. 

This certainly was, to all appearance, very unaccountable be- 
havior; but the fact was, that Mr. Pickwiijk no sooner put •)!! his 
spectacles, than he at once recognised in the future Mrs. Mag- 
nus the lady into whose room he had so unwarrantably intruded 
on the previous night ; and the spectacles had no sooner crossed 
Mr. Pickwick’s nose, than the lady at once identified the coun- 
tenance which she had seen surrounded by all the horrors of a 
night-cap. So the lady screamed, and Mr. Pickwick started. 

“Mr. Pickwick!” exclaimed Mii Magnus, lost in astonish- 
ment, “what is the meaning of this. Sir? What is the mean- 
ing of it. Sir?” added Mr. Magnus, in a threatening and a louder' 
tone. 

“ Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, somewhat indignant at the very 
sudden manner in which Mr. Peter Magnus had conjugated 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


867 


himself into the imperative mood, “I decline answering that 
question.” 

“You decline it, Sir?” said Mr. Magnus. 

“ I do, Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick ; “ I object to saying any 
thing which may compromise that lady, or awaken unpleasant 
recollections in her breast, without her consent and permis- 
Bion.” 

“ Miss Witherfield,” said Mr. Peter Magnus, “do you know 
this person ?” ^ 

“ Know him !” repeated the middle-aged lady, hesitating. 

“ Yes, know him, Ma’am — I said know him,” replied Mr. 
Magnus, with ferocity. 

“I have seen him,” replied the middle-aged lady. 

“ Where ?” inquired Mr. Maguus, “ where ?”. 

“That,” said the middle-aged lady, rising from her seat, and 
averting her head, “ that I would not reveal for worlds.” 

“I understand you. Ma’am,” said Mr. Pickwick, “and 
respect your delicacy ; it shall never be revealed by me, depend 
upon it.” 

“Upon my word. Ma’am,” said Mr. Magnus, “considering 
the situation in which I am placed with regard to yourself, you 
carry this matter off with tolerable coolness — tolerable coolness. 
Ma’am.” 

“Cruel Mr. Magnus,” said the middle-aged . lady, and here 
she wept very copiously indeed. 

“ Address your observations to me. Sir,” interposed Mr. Pick- 
wick ; “I alone am to blame, if any body be.” 

“ Oh I you alone are to blame, are you. Sir ?” said Mr. Mag- 
nus ; “ I — I— see through this, Sir. You repent of your deter- 
mination now, do you ?” 

“My determination I” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Your determination. Sir. Oh I don’t stare at me. Sir,” 
said Mr. Magnus • “ I recollect your words last night. Sir. 
You came down here. Sir, to expose the treachery and falsehood 
of an individual on whose truth and honor you had placed im- 
plicit reliance — eh ?” Here Mr. Peter Magnus indulged in a 
prolonged sneer ; and taking off his green spectacles — which ho 
probably found superfluous in his fit of jealousy — rolled his 
little eyes about, in a manner which was frightful to behold. 


368 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“Eh?” said Mr. Magnus; and then he repeated the sneer 
with increased effect. “But you shall answer it, Sir.” 

“ Answer what ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Never mind, Sir,” replied Mr. Magnus, striding up an 
down the room — “ Never mind.” 

There must be something very comprehensive in this phrase or 
“Never mind,” for we do not recollect to have ever witnessed a 
quarrel in the street, at a theatre, public room, or elsewhere, 
in which it has not been the standard reply to all belligerent in- 
quiries. “ Do you call yourself a gentleman, Sir ?” — “ Never 
mind, Sir.” “ Did I offer to say any thing to the young woman, 
Sir ?” — “ Never mind. Sir.” “Do you want your head knocked 
up against that wall. Sir?” — “ Never mind. Sir.” It is obser- 
vable, too, that there would appear to be some hidden taunt in 
this universal “ Never mind,” which rouses more indignation in 
the bosom of the individual addressed, than the most lavish 
abuse could possibly awaken. 

We do not mean to assert that the application of this brevity 
to himself, struck exactly that indignation to Mr. Pickwick^a 
soul, which it would infallibly have roused in a vulgar breast. 
We merely record the fact that Mr. Pickwick opened the room 
door, and abruptly called out, “Tupman, come here.” 

Mr. Tupman immediately presented himself, with a look of 
very considerable surprise. 

“ Tupman,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ a secret of some delicacy in 
which that lady is concerned, is the cause of a difference which 
has just arisen between this gentleman and myself. When I 
assure him, in your, presence, that it has no relation to himself, 
and is not in any way connected with his affairs, I need hardly 
beg you to take notice that if he continues to dispute it, he ex- 
presses a doubt of my veracity which I shall consider extremely 
iusulting.” As Mr. Pickwick said this, he looked encyclopedias 
at Mr. Peter Magnus. 

Mr. Pickwick’s upright and honorable bearing, coupled with 
that force and energy of speech which so eminently distinguished 
him, would have carried conviction to any reasonable mind ; but 
unfortunately at that particular moment, the mind of Mr. Peter 
Magnus was in any thing but reasonable order. Consequently, 
instead of receiving Mr. Pickwick’s explanation as he ought to 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Have done, he forthwith proceeded to work himself into a red- 
hut scorching consuming passion, and to talk about whut *vas 
due to his own feelings, and all that sort of thing, adding force 
to his declamation by striding to and fro, and pulling his hair, 
amuscmei^ts which he would vary oceasionally, by shaking his 
fist in Mr. Pickwick’s philanthropic countenance. 

Mr. Pickwick, in his turn, conscious of his o\vn innocence and 
rectitude, and irritated by having unfortunately involved the 
middle-aged lady in such an unpleasant alhiir, was not so quietly 
disposed as was his wont. The consequence was, that wonls 
ran high, and voices higher, and at length Mr. Magnus told 
Mr. Pickwick he should hear from him, to which .Mr. Pickwick 
replied with laudable politeness, that the sooiier he heard from 
him the better; whereupon the middle-aged lady rushetl in 
terror from the room, out of which Mr. Tupman dragged 
Mr. Pickwick, leaving Mr. Peter Magnus to liimself and medi- 
tation. 

If the middle-aged lady had mingled much with the busy 
world, or profited at all, by the manners and customs of those 
who make the laws and set the fashions, she would have known 
that this sort of ferocity is just the most harmless thing in 
nature: but as she had lived for the most jiart in the comitry, 
and never read the parliamentary debates, she was little versed 
in these particular refinements of civilized life. Accordingly, 
when she had gained her bed-chamber, bolted herself in, and 
begun to meditate on the scene she had just witnessed, the most 
terrific pictures of slaughter and destruction presented them- 
selves to her imagination ; among which a full-length portrait 
of Mr. Peter Magnus, borne home by four men, with the em- 
bellishment of a whole barrel-full of bullets in his left side, was 
among the very least. The more the middle-aged lady medi- 
tated, the more terrified she became ; and at length she deter- 
mined to repair to the house of the principal magistrate of the 
town, and request him to secure the persons of Mr. Pickwick 
111) I Mr. Tupman without delay. 

To this decision the middle-aged lady was impelled by a 
variety of considerations, the chief of which was the incontestable 
proof it would afford of her devotion to Mr. Peter Magnus, and 
her anxiety for his safety. She was too well acquainted with 
24 


870 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


l)is jealous temperament to venture the slightest allusion to the 
real cause of her agitation on beholding Mr. Pickwick ; and she 
trusted to her own influence and power of persuasion with the 
little man, to quell his boisterous jealousy, supposing that Mr. 
Pickwick were removed, and no fresh quarrel could arise. 
Filled with these reflections, the middle-aged lady ai^rayed her- 
self in her bonnet and shawl, and repaired to the mayor’s dwell- 
ing straightway. 

Now George Napkins, Esquire, the principal magistrate 
aforesaid, was about as grand a personage as the fastest walker 
would find out between sunrise and sunset, on the twenty-first 
of June, which being, according to the almanacs, the longest 
day in the whole year, would naturally afford him the longest 
period for his search. On this particular morning, Mr. Nupkins 
was in the state of the utmost excitement and irritation, for 
there had been a rebellion in the town; all the day-scholars at 
the largest day-school, had conspired to break the windows of 
an obnoxious apple-seller, and had hooted the beadle, and pelted 
the constabulary — an elderly gentleman in top boots, who had 
been called out to repress the tumult; and had been a peace- 
officer, man and boy, for half a century at least. And Mr. 
Nupkins was sitting in his easy chair, frowning with majesty 
and boiling with rage, when a lady was announced on pressing, 
private, and particular business. Mr. Nupkins looked calmly 
terrible, and commanded that the lady should be showm iu, 
which command, like all the mandates of emperors and magis- 
trates, and other great potentates of the earth, wms forthwith 
obeyed; and Miss Witherfield, interestingly agitated, w'as 
ushered in accordingly. 

“Muzzle,” said the magistrate. 

Muzzle wms an undersized footman with a long body and 
short legs. 

“Muzzle.” 

“Yes, your w^orship.” 

“ Place a chair and leave tie room.” 

“ Yes, your worship.” 

“Now, Ma’am, will you state your business?” said the 
magistrate. 

“ It is of a very painful kind, Sir,” said Miss Witherfield. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


871 


“ Tery likely, Ma’am,” said the magistrate. “ Compose your 
feelings, Ma’am.” Here Mr. Nupkiiis looked beiiignant. “And 
then tell me what legal business brings you here, Ma’am.” Here 
the magistrate triumphed over the man ; and he looked stem 
again. 

“ It is very distressing to me, Sir, to give this information,” 
said Miss Witherfield ; “ but I fear a duel is going to be fought 
here.” 

“Here, Ma’am,” said the magistrate. “Where, Ma’am ?” 

“ In Ipswich.’ 

“ In Ipswich, Ma’am — a duel in Ii)swich,” said the magis- 
trate, perfectly aghast at the notion. “ Impossible, Ma’am : 
nothing of the kind can be contemplated in this town, 1 am 
persuaded. Bless my soul, Ma’am ; are you aware of the 
activity of our local magistracy ? Do you happen to have 
heard, Ma’am, that I rushed into a prize-ring on the fourth of 
May last, attended by only sixty special consta])les ; and, at the 
hazard of falling a sacrifice to the angry passions of an infuriated 
multitude, prohibited a pugilistic contest between the Middle- 
sex Dumpling, and the Suffolk Bantam ? A duel in Ijiswich, 
Ma’am ! I don’t think — I do not think,” said the magistrate, 
reasoning with himself, “ that any two men can have the hardi- 
hood to plan such a breach of the peace, in this town.” 

“ ]SIy information is, unfortunately, but too correct,” said the 
middle-aged lady, “I was present at the quarrel.” 

“ It’s a most extraordinary thing,” said the astonished magis- 
trate. “Muzzle.” 

“Yes, your worship.” 

“ Send Mr. Jinks here, directly — instantly.” 

“Yes, your worship.” 

Muzzle retired; and a pale, sharp-nosed, half-fed, shabbily 
clad clerk, of middle age, entered the room. 

“^Ir. Jinks,” said the magist?ate — “Mr, Jinks.” 

“ Sir,” said Mr. Jinks. 

“ This lady, Mr. Jinks, has come here to give information of 
an intended duel in this town.” '' 

Mr. Jinks, not exactly knowing what to do, smiled a de- 
pendent’s smile. 

“ What are you laughing at, Mr. Jinks V said the magistrate. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


m 

Mr. Jinks looked serious, instantly. 

“Mr. Jinks,” said tlie magistrate, “you’re a fooi, Sir.” 

IMr, Jinks looked humbly at the great man, and bit the top 
of his pen. 

“You may see something very comical in this information, 
Sir; but I can tell you this, Mr. Jinks, that you have very little 
to laugh at,” said the magistrate. 

The hungry-looking Jinks sighed, as if he were quite aware 
of the fact of his having very little, indeed, to be merry about; 
and, being ordered to take the lady’s information, shambled to 
a seat, and proceeded to write it down. 

“This man, Pickwick, is the principal, I understand,” said 
the magistrate, when the statement was finished. 

“ He is,” said the middle-aged lady. 

“ And the other rioter — what’s his name, Mr. Jinks ?” 

“Tiipman, Sir.” 

“ Tupman is the second ?” 

“ Yes,” 

“The other principal, you say, has absconded, ma’am ?” 

“Yes,” replied Miss Witherfield, with a short cough. 

“Very well,” said the magistrate. “These are two cut- 
throats from London, who have come down here to destroy his 
majesty’s population, thinking that, at this distance from the 
capital, the arm of the law is weak and paralysed. They shall be 
made an example of. Draw up the warrants, Mr. Jinks. Muzzle.” 

“Yes, your worship.” 

“ Is Grummer down stairs ?” 

“Yes, your worship.” 

“ Send him up.” 

The obsequious Muzzle retired, and presently returned, in- 
troducing the elderly gentleman in the top-boots, who was 
chiefly remarkable for a bottle nose, a hoarse voice, a snuff 
colored surtout, and a wandering eye. 

“ Grummer,” said the magistrate. 

“ Your wash-up.” 

“ I? the town quiet, now ?” 

“Pretty well, your wash-up,” replied Grummer. “Pop’lar 
feeling has in a measure subsided, consekens o’ the boys having 
dispersed to cricket.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


878 


“Nothin^ but vigoroiu measures will do, in these times, 
Gnimmer,” said the mascistrate, in a determined manner. “ If 
the authority of the king’s officers is set at naught, we must 
have the riot act read. If the civil power cannot protect these 
windows, Gruiiimer, the military must protect the civil power, 
and the windows too. I believe that is a maxim of the con- 
stitution, Mr. Jinks ?” 

“ Certainly, Sir,” said Jinks. 

“Very good,” said the magistrate, signing the warrants. 
“G rummer, you will bring these persons before me, this after- 
noon. You will find them at the Great White Horse. You 
recollect the case of the Middlesex Dumpling and the Suffolk 
Bantam, Grummer ?” 

Mr. Grummer intimated, by a retrospective shake of the head, 
that he should never forget it — as indeed it was not likely he 
would, as long as it continued to be cited daily. 

“ This is even more unconstitutional,” said the magistrate ; 
“this is even a greater breach of the peace, and a grosser 
infringement of his majesty’s prerogative. I believe duelling 
is one of his majesty’s most undoubted prerogatives, Mr. 
Jinks ?” 

“ Expressly stipulated in Magna Charta, Sir,” said Mr. Jinks. 

“One of the brightest jewels in the British crowm, wTung 
I from his majesty by the political union of barons, I believe, Mr 
I Jinks ?” said the magistrate. 

“ Just so, Sir,” replied Mr. Jinks. 

“ Very well,” said the magistrate, drawing himself up proudly, 

' “ it shall not be violated in this portion of his dominions. 
Grummer, procure assistance, and execute these warrants with 
as little delay as possible. Muzzzle.” 

“Yes, your worship.” 

“ Show the lady out.” 

Miss Witherfield retired, deeply impressed with the magis- 
trate’s learning and research; Mr. Nupkins retired to luncli; 
Mr. Jinks retired within himself— that being the only retirement 
he had, except the sofa-bedstead in the small parlor which mis 
occupied by his landlady’s family in the daytime — and Mr. 
Grummer retired, to wash out, by his. mode of discharging his 
present commission, the insult which had been fastened upon 


374 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


himself, and the other representative of his mojesty — the bcadlo 
■ — in the course of the morning. 

While these resolute and determined preparations for the con- 
servation of the king’s peace were pending, Mr. Pickwick and 
his friends, wholly unconscious of the mighty events in pro- 
gress, had sat quietly down to dinner; and very talkative and 
companionable they all were ; Mr. Pickwick was in the very 
act of relating his adventure of the preceding night, to the great 
amusement of his followers, Mr. Tupman especially, when the 
door opened, and a somewhat forbidding countenance peeped 
into the room. The eyes in the forbidding countenance looked 
very earnestly at Mr. Pickwick for several seconds, and were, 
to all appearance, satisfied with their investigation ; for the 
body to which the forbidding countenance belonged, slowly 
brought itself into the apartment, and presented the form of an 
elderly individual in top-boots — not to keep the reader any 
longer in suspense, in short, the eyes were the wandering eyes 
of Mr. Grumraer, and the body was the body of the same gen- 
tleman. 

Mr. Grummer’s mode of proceeding was professional, but 
peculiar. His first act was to bolt the door on the inside ; his 
second, to polish his head and countenance very carefully with 
a cotton handkerchief ; his third, to place his hat, with the cotton 
handkerchief in it, on the nearest chair ; and his fourth to pre*- 
duce, from the breast-pocket of his coat, a short truncheon sur- 
mounted by a brazen crown, with which he beckoned to M r. 
Pickwick with a grave and ghost-like air. 

Mr. Snodgrass was the first to break the astonished silence. 
He looked steadily at Mr. Grumnner for a brief space, and then 
said, emphatically — “This is a private room. Sir — a private 
room.” 

Mr. Grummer shook his head, and replied — “ No room’s pri- 
vate to his majesty, when the street door’s once passed. That’s 
law. Some people maintains that an Englishman’s house is his 
castle. That’s gammon. ” 

The Pickwickians gazed on each other with wondering eyes. 

“ Which is Mr. Tupman ?” inquired Mr. Grummer. He had 
an intuitive perception ol Mr. Pickwick; he knew him at 

once. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


875 


•' My name’s Tnpman,” said that gentleman. 

“ My name’s Law,” said Mr. Grummer. 

‘MVliat?” said Mr. Tnpman. 

“ Law,” rei)licd Mr. Grnmmer, “ law, civil power, and cxeka* 
nve ; them’s my titles ; here’s my authority. Blank Tnpman 
blank Pickvick — against the peace of our suffering Lord, the 
King — stattit in that case made and provided — and all regular 
I apprehend yon, Pickvick, Tnpman — the aforesaid.” 

“ What do 3'ou mean by this insolence ?” said Mr. Tupman, 
starting up — “ Leave the room, leave the room.” 

“ Halloo,” said Mr. Grummer, retreating very expeditiously 
to the door, and opening it an inch or two, “ Dubbley.” 

“Well,” said a deep voice from the passage. 

“ Come for’ard, Dubbley,” said Mr. Grummer. 

At the word of command, a dirty-faced man, something over 
six feet high, and stout in proportion, squeezed himself through 
the half-o})en door, making his face very red in^the process, 
and entered the room. 

“ Is the other specials outside, Dubbley ?” inquired Mr. 
Grummer. 

Mr. Dubbley, who was a man of few words, nodded assent. 

“ Order in the diwision under your charge, Dubbley,” said 
Mr. Grummer. 

Mr. Dubbley did as he was desired ; and half-a-dozen men, 
each with a short truncheon and a brass crown, flocked into the 
room. Mr. Grummer pocketed his staff and looked at Mr. 
Dubbley, Mr. Dubbley pocketed his staff and looked at the 
division ; and the division pocketed their staves and looked at 
Messrs. Tupman and Pickwick. 

Mr. Pickwick and his followers rose as one man. 

“ What is the meaning of this atrocious intrusion upon my 
privacy ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Who dares apprehend me ?” said Mr. Tupman. 

“What do you want here, scoundrels?” said Mr. Snodgrass. 

Mr. Winkle said nothing, but he fixed his eyes on Grummer, 
and bestowed a look upon him, which, if he had had any feeling, 
must have pierced his brain, and come out on the other side. 
As it was, however, it had no visible effect upon him whatever. 

When the exeentive perceived that Mr. Pickwick and hia 


876 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


friends were disposed to resist the authority of the Iw, they 
very significantly turned up their coat-sleeves, as if knocking 
them down in the first instance, and taking them up afterwards, 
were a mere professional act which had only to be thought of, to 
be done, as a matter of course. This demonstration was not 
lost upon Mr. Pickwick. He conferred a few moments with 
Mr. Tupman apart, and then signified his readiness to proceed 
to the mayor’s residence, merely begging the parties then and 
there assembled, to take notice, that it was his firm intention to 
resent this monstrous invasion of his privileges as an English- 
man, the instant he was at liberty, whereat the parties then and 
there assembled, laughed very heartily, with the single exception 
of Mr. Grummer, who seemed to consider that any slight cast 
upon the divine right of magistrates, was a species of blasphemy 
not to be tolerated. 

Hut when Mr. Pickwick had signified his readiness to bow 
to the laws of his country, and just when the waiters, and 
hostlers, and chambermaids, and post-boys, who had anticipated 
a delightful commotion from his threatened obwStinacy, began to 
turn away disappointed and disgusted, a difficulty arose which 
had not been foreseen. With every sentiment of veneration for 
the constituted authorities, Mr. Pickwick resolutely protested 
against making his appearance in the public streets, surrounded 
and guarded by the officers of justice, like a common criminal. 
Mr. Grummer, in the then disturbed state of public feeling (for 
it was half-holiday, and the boys had not yet gone home), as 
resolutely protested against walking on the opposite side of 
the way, and taking Mr. Pickwick’s parole that he would go 
straight to the magistrate’s ; and both Mr. Pickwick and Mr. 
Tui)man as strenuously objected to the expense of a post-coach, 
which was the only respectable conveyance that could be 
obtained. The dispute ran high, and the dilemma lasted long; 
aj»d just as the executives were on the point of overcoming Mr. 
Pickwick’s objection to walking to the magistrate’s by the trite 
expedient of carrying him thither, it was recollected that there 
stood in the inn yard an old sedan-chair, which, having been 
originally built for a gouty gentleman with funded property, 
would hold Mr. Pickwick and Mr Tupman, at least as con- 
veaiently as a modern post-chaise The chair was hired, and 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


877 


brought into the hall ; Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman squeezed 
themselves inside, and pulled down the blinds; a couple of chair- 
men were speedily found, and the procession started in grand 
order. The specials surrounded the body of the vehicle, Mr. 
Grummer and Mr. Dubbley marched triumphantly in front, Mr. 
Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle walked arm in arm behind, and the 
. un soap e d of Ipswich brought up the rear. 

The shopkeepers of the town, although they had a very indis- 
tinct notion of the nature of the offence, could not but be much 
edified and gratified by this spectacle. Here was the strong 
arm of the law, coming down with twenty gold-beater force, 
upon two offenders from the metropolis itself; the mighty engine 
was directed by their own magistrate and worked by their own 
officers; and both the criminals, by their united efforts, were 
securely boxed up, in the narrow compass of one sedan-chair. 
Many were the expressions of approval and admiration which 
greeted Mr. Grummer, as he headed the cavalcaed staff in hand ; 
loud and long were the shouts which were raised by the unsoaped ; 
and amidst these united testimonials of public approbation, the 
procession moved slowly and majestically along. 

Mr. Weller, habited in his morning jacket with the black 
calico sleeves, was returning in a rather desponding state from 
an unsuccessful survey of the mysterious house with the green 
gate, when, raising his eyes, he beheld a crowd pouring down the 
street, surrounding an object which had very much the appear- 
ance of a sedan-chair. Willing to divert his thoughts from the 
failure of his enterprise, he stepped aside to see the crowd pass; 
and finding that they were cheering away, very niuch to their 
own satisfaction, forthwith began (just by way of raisiig his 
spirits) to cheer too with all his might and main. 

Mr. Grummer passed, and Mr. Dubbley passed, and the sedan 
passed, and the body-guard of specials passed, and Sam was 
still responding to the enthusiastic cheers of the mob, and wav- 
ing his hat about as if he were in the very last extreme of the 
wildest joy (though of course he had not the faintest idea of the 
matter in hand), when he was suddenly stopped by the unex- 
pected appearance of Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass. 

“What’s the row, gen’Pm’n ?” cried Sam. “Who have they 
got in this here watch-box in mourning ?” 


o78 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Both gentlemen replied together, but their words were lost 
ill the tumult. 

“ Who is it ?” roared Sam again. 

Once more was a joint reply returned ; and though the words 
were inaudible, Sam saw by the motion of the two pairs of lips 
that they had uttered the magic word “Pickwick.” 

This was enough. In another minute Mr. Weller had made 
his way through the crowd, stopped the chairman, and con- 
fronted the portly Grummer. 

“ Hallo, old gen’l’in’ii,” said Sam, “ who have you got in this 
here con-wayance ?” 

“Stand back,” said Mr. Grummer, whose dignity, like the 
dignity of a great many other men, had been wondrously aug- 
mented by a little popularity. 

“ Knock him down, if he don’t,” said Mr. Dubbley. 

“ I’m wery much obliged to you, old gen’l’m’n,” replied Sam, 
“for consulting my conwenience, and I’m still more obliged to 
the other geii’l’m’n, who looks as if he’d just escaped from a 
giant’s carryvvan, for his wery ’aiisome suggestion ; but I should 
prefer your givin’ me a answer to my question, if it’s all the 
same to you. How are you. Sir ?” This last observation was 
addressed ivith a patronising air to Mr. Pickwick, who was peep- 
ing through the front window. 

Mr. Grummer, perfectly speechless with indignation, dragged 
the truncheon with the brass crown, from its particular pocket, 
and flourished it before Sam’s eyes. 

“ Ah,” said Sam, “ it’s wery pretty, ’specially the crov/n, 
which is uncolnmon like the real one.” 

“ Stand back,” said the outraged Mr. Grummer. By way 
of adding force to the command, he thrust the brass emblem 
of royalty into Sam’s neckcloth with one hand, and seized 
Sam’s collar with the other, a compliment which Mr Weller 
returned by knocking him down out of hand, having previously, 
with the utmost consideration, knocked down a chairman for 
him to lie upon. 

Whether Mr. Winkle was seized with a temporary attack of 
that species of insanity wdiich originates in a sense of injury, or 
animated by this display of Mr. Weller’s valor, is uncertain ; 
but certain it is, that he no sooner saw Mr. Grummer fall, than 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


879 


he made a terrific onslaught on a small boy who stood next 
him ; whereupon Mr. Snodgrass, in a truly Christian spirit, 
and in order that he might take no one unawares, announced 
in a very loud tone that lie was going to begin, and proceeded 
to take off his coat with the utmost deliberation. lie was 
immediately surrounded and secured ; and it is but common 
justice both to him and Mr. Winkle to say, that they did not 
make the slightest attempt to rescue either themselves or Mr. 
Weller, who, after a most vigorous resistance, was overpowered 
by numbers, and taken prisoner. The procession then re- 
formed, the chairmen resumed their stations, and the march 
was recommenced. 

Mr. Pickwick’s indignation during the whole of this pro- 
ceeding was beyond all bounds. He could just see Sam upset- 
ting the specials, and flying about in every direction, and that 
was all he could see, for the sedan doors wouldn’t open, and 
the blinds wouldn’t pull up. At length, with the assistance 
of Mr. Tupman, he managed to push open the roof ; and 
mounting on the seat, and steadying himself as well as he could, 
by placing his hand on that gentleman’s shoulder, Mr. Pickwick 
proceeded to address the multitude ; to dwell upon the unjusti- 
fiable manner in which he had been treated ; and to call upon 
them to take notice that his servant had been first assaulted. 
And in this order they reached the magistrate’s house; the 
chairmen trotting, the prisoners following, Mr. Pickwick ora- 
tor isliig, and the crowd shouting. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


SHOWING, AMONG A VARIETY OF PLEASANT MATTERS, HOW MA- 
JESTIC AND IMPARTIAL MR. NUPKINS WAS ; AND HOW MR. 
WELLER RETURNED MR. JOB TROTTER’S SHUTTLECOCK, AS 
HEAVILY AS IT CAME. WITH ANOTHER MATTER, WHICH 
WILL BE FOUND IN ITS PLACE. 

Violent was Mr. Weller’s indignation as he was borne 
along ; numerous were the allusions to the personal appear- 
ance and demeanor of Mr. Grummer and his companions : and 
valorous were the defiances to any six of the gentlemen pre- 
sent, in which he vented his dissatisfaction. Mr. Snodgrass 
and Mr. Winkle listened with gloomy respect to the torrent of 
eloquence which their leader poured forth from the sedan-chair, 
and the rapid course of which not all Mr. Tupman’s earnest 
entreaties to have the lid of the vehicle closed, were able to 
check for an instant. But Mr. Weller’s anger quickly gave 
way to curiosity, when the procession turned down the identical 
court-yard in which he had met with the runaway Job Trotter; 
and curiosity was exchanged for a feeling of the most gleeful 
astonishment, when the all-important Mr. Grummer, command- 
ing the sedan-bearers to haltf advanced with dignified and por- 
tentous steps, to the very green gate from which Job Trotter 
had emerged, and gave a mighty pull at the bell-handle which 
hung at the side thereof. The ring was answered by a very 
smart and pretty-faced servant-girl, who after holding up her 
hands in astonishment at the rebellious appearance of the pri- 
soners, and the impassioned language of Mr. Pickwick, sum- 
moned Mr. Muzzle. Mr. Muzzle opened one-half of the car- 
.'iage gate, to admit the sedan, the captured ones, and the spe- 
cials ; and immediately slammed it in the faces of the mob, who, 
indignai t at being excluded, and anxious to see what followed, 
relieved their feelings by kicking at the gate and ringing the 
bell, for an hour or two afterwards. lu this amusement, they 
( 380 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


881 


all took part by turns, except three or four fortunate individuals, 
who liaving discovered a grating in the gate which commanded 
a view of nothing, were staring through it with the same inde- 
fatigalde perseverance with which people will flatten their noses 
against the front windows of a chemist’s shop when a drunken 
man who has been run over by a dog-cart in the street, is 
undergoing a surgical inspection in the back-parlor. 

At the foot of a flight of steps leading to the house door, 
which were guarded on either side by an American aloe in a 
green tub, the sedan-chair stopped ; and Mr. Pickwick and his 
friends were conducted into the hall, from whence, having been 
previously announced by Muzzle, and ordered in by Mr. Nup- 
kius, they were ushered into the worshipful presence of that 
public-spirited officer. 

The scene was an impressive one, well calculated to strike 
terror to the hearts of culprits, and to impress them with an 
adequate idea of the stern majesty of the law. In front of a 
big book-case, in a big chair, behind a big table, and before a 
big volume, sat Mr. Nupkins, looking a full size larger than 
any one of them, big as they were. The table was adorned 
with piles of papers ; and above the farther end of it appeared 
the head and shoulders of Mr. Jinks, who was busily engaged 
in looking as busy as possible. The party having all entered. 
Muzzle carefully closed the door, and placed himself behind his 
master’s chair, to await his ordere ; Mr. Nupkins threw him- 
self back with thrilling solemnity, and scrutinized the faces of 
his unwilling visitors. 

“Now, Gnimmer, who is that person?” said Mr. Nupkins, 
pointing to Mr. Pickwick, who as the spokesman of his friends, 
stood hat in hand, bowing with the utmost politeness and 
respect. 

“ This here’s Pickvick, your wash-up,” said Grummer. 

“ Come, none o’ that ’ere, old Strike-a-light,” interposed Mr. 
Weller, elbowing himself into the front rank. “ Beg your par- 
don, Sir, but this here officer o’ yourn in the gamboge tops ’ll 
never earn a decent livin’ as a master o’ the ceremonies any 
vere. 'rhis here. Sir,” continued Mr. Weller, thrusting Grura- 
mer aside, and addressing the magistrate with pleasant fami- 
liarity, “This here is S. Pickvick, Esquire; this here’s Mr. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


Tapraan ; that ’ere’s Mr. Snodgrass; and fiirder on, roxt him 
on the t’other side, Mr. Winkle — all wery nice geii’I’in'ii, Sir, 
as you’ll be very happy to have the acquaintance on ; so the 
sooner you commits these here officers o’ yourn to the treadmill, 
for a month or two, the sooner we shall begin to be on a plea- 
sant understanding. Business first, pleasure arterwards, as 
King Bichard the Third said ven he stabbed the t’other king in 
the Tower, afore he smothered the babbies.” 

At the conclusion of this address, Mr. Weller brushed his hat 
with his right elbow, and nodded benignly to Jinks, who had 
heard him throughout with unspeakable awe. 

“ Who is this man, Grummer ?” said the magistrate. 

“ Wery desp’rate character, your wash-up,” replied Grummer. 
“ He attempted to rescue the prisoners, and assaulted the 
officers — so we took him into custody, and brought him here.” 

“You did quite right,” replied the magistrate. “He is 
evidently a desperate ruffian.” 

“ He is my servant. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, angrily. 

“Oh I he is your servant, is he ?” said Mr. Bupkins. “A 
conspiracy to defeat the ends of justice, and murder its officers. 
Pickwick’s servant. Put that down, Mr. Jinks.” 

Mr. Jinks did so. 

“What’s your name, fellow ?” thundered Mr. Nupkins. 

“ Veller,” replied Sam. 

“A very good name for the Newgate Calendar,” said Mr. 
Nui)kins. 

This was a joke ; so Jinks, Grummer, Dubbley, all the spe- 
cials, and Muzzle went into fits of laughter for five minutes’ 
duration. 

“ Put down his name, Mr. Jinks,” said the magistrate. 

“ Two L’s, old feller,” said Sam. 

Here an unfortunate special laughed again, whereupon the 
magistrate threatened to commit him instantly. It’s a dangerous 
thing, laughing at the wrong man in these cases. 

“Where do yon live?” said the magistrate. 

“Yare-ever I can,” replied Sam. 

“ Put that down, Mr. Jinks,” said the magistrate, who was 
fast rising into a rage. 

“Score it under,” said Sam. 


THE PICKAVICK PAPERS. 


88?J 

lie is a vagabond, Mr. Jinks,” said the magistrate. ' He 
is a vagabond on Ins own statement, is he not, Mr. Jinks?” 

“ Ceriainly, Sir.” 

“ Tlieii I'll commit him — I’ll commit him as such,” said Mr. 
Xur)kins. 

“ This is a wery impartial country for justice,” said Sara. 
“There ain’t a magistrate going, gs don’t commit himself twice 
as often as he commits other people.” 

At this sally another special laughed, and then tried to look 
so supernatural ly solemn, that the magistrate detected him im- 
mediately. 

“Grumraer,” said Mr. Napkins, reddening with passion, 
“how dare you select such an inefficient and disreputable person 
for a special constable as that man ? How dare you do it. Sir?” 

“ I am very sorry, your wash-up,” stammered Grummer. 

“ Y cry sorry !” said the furious magistrate. “ Y on shall repent 
of this neglect of duty, Mr. Grummer : you shall be made an 
example of. Take that fellow’s staff away. He’s drunk. 
You’re drunk, fellow.” 

“ I am not drunk, your worship,” said the man. 

“ You are drunk,” returned the magistrate. “ How dare you 
say you are not drunk, Sir, when I say you are ? Doesn’t he 
smell of spirits, Grummer?” 

“ Horrid, your wash-up,” replied Grumraer, who had a vague 
impression that there was a smell of rum somewhere. 

“ I knew he did,” said Mr. Napkins. “I saw he was drunk 
when he first came into the room, by his excited eye. Did you 
observe his excited eye, Mr. Jinks ?” 

“ Certainly, Sir.” 

“ I haven’t touched a drop of spirits this morning,” said the 
man, who was as sober a fellow as need be. 

“ How dare you tell me a falsehood ?” said Mr. Nupkius. 
“isn’t he drunk at this moment, Mr. Jinks?” 

“C-rtainly, Sir,” replied Jinks. 

“ Mr. Jinks,” said the magistrate, “I shall commit that muu, 
for contempt. Make out his committal, Mr. Jinks.” 

And committed the special would have been, only Jinks, who 
was the magistrate’s adviser, having had a legal education of 
three j^ears in a country attorney’s office, whispered the magis- 


384 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


tratc that he thought it wouldn’t do ; so the magistrate made a 
speech, and said, that in consideration of the special’s family, he 
would merely reprimand and discharge him. Accordiiigly, the 
special was alwised vehemently for a quarter of an hour, and sent 
about his busiimss ; and Grummcr, Dnbbley, Muzzle, and all the 
other specials, murmured their admiration of the magnanimity 
of Mr. Nupkins 

“ Now, Mr. Jinks,” said the magistrate, “ swear Grummer.” 

Grummer was sworn directly ; but as Grummcr wandered, and 
Air. Nupkins’ dinner was nearly ready. Air. Nupkins cut the 
matter short by putting leading questions to Grummer, which 
Grummer answered as nearly in the affirmative as he could. So 
the examination went off, all very smooth and comfortable; and 
two assaults were proved against Air. Weller, and a threat 
against Mr. Winkle, and a push against Air. Snodgrass. And 
when all this was done to the magistrate’s satisfaction, the magis- 
trate and Air. Jinks consulted in whispers. 

The consultation having lasted about ten minutes. Air. Jinks 
retired to his end of the table ; and the magistrate, with a pre- 
paratory cough, drew himself up in his chair, and was proceeding 
to commence his address, when Air. Pickwick interposed. 

“ I beg your pardon. Sir, for interrupting you,” said Air. 
Pickwick, “ but before you proceed to express, and act upon, 
ail} opinion you may have formed on the statements which have 
been made here, I must claim my right to be heard so far as I 
am personally concerned.” 

“ Hold your tongue. Sir,” said the magistrate, peremptorily. 

“ I must submit to you. Sir,” said Air. Pickwick. 

“Hold your tongue. Sir,” interposed the magistrate, “or I 
shall order an officer to remove you.” 

“You may order your officers to do whatever you please. Sir,” 
said Air. Pickwick ; “ and I have no doubt, from the specimen I 
have had of the subordination preserved among them, that what- 
ever you order, they will execute ; but I shall take the liberty. 
Sir, of claiming my right to be heard, until I am removed by 
force.” 

“ Pickwick and principle,” exclaimed Air. Weller, in a very 
audible voice. , 

“ Sam, be quiet,” said Mr Pickwick. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“Dumb as a drum vith a hole in it,” replied Sam. 

Mr. Napkins looked at Mr. Pickwick with a gaze of intense v 
astonishment, at his displaying such unwonted temerity ; ai^ 
was apparently about to return a very angry reply, when Mr. 
Jii ks pulled him by the sleeve, and whispered something ii^ his 
ear. To this the magistrate returned a half-audible answer, and 
then the whispering was renewed. Jinks was evidently remon-^ 
strating. 

At length the magistrate, gulping down with a very bad grace 
his disinclination to hear any thing more, turned to Mr. Pick- 
wick, and said sharply, “ What do you want to say ?” 

“ First,” said Mr. Pickwick, sending a look through his spec- 
tacles under which even Napkins quailed, — ‘‘First, I wish to 
know what I and my friend have been brought here for ?” 

“ Must I tell him ?” whispered the magistrate to Jinks. 

“ I think you had better. Sir,” whispered Jinks to the magis- 
trate. 

“ An information has been sworn before me,” said the magis- 
trate, “that it is apprehended you are going to fight a duel, and 
that the other man, Tupman, is your aider and abettor in it. 
Therefore — eh, Mr. Jinks ?” 

“Certainly, Sir.” 

“Therefore, I call npon you both, to — I think that^s the 
course, Mr. Jinks?” 

“ Certainly, Sir.” 

“ To — to — what, Mr. Jinks ?” said the magistrate, pettishly. 

“ To find bail. Sir.” 

“ Yes. Therefore, I call upon you both — as I was about to 
say when I was interrupted by my clerk — to find bail.” 

“Good bail,” whispered Mr. Jinks. 

“I shall require good bail,” said the magistrate. 

“ Town’s people,” whispered Jinks. 

“ They must be town’s people,” said the magistrate. 

“ Fifty pounds, each,” whispered Jinks, “ and householders, 
of course.” 

“ I shall require two sureties, of fifty pounds each,” said the 
magistrate aloud, with great dignity, “and they must be house- 
holaers of course.” 

“But bless my heart, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, whp, together 
25 


886 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


with Mr. Tupman, was all amazement and indignation : “we 
are perfect strangers in this town. I l.ave as little knowledge 
of any householders here, as I have intention of fighting a duel 
with any body.” 

“ I dare say,” replied the magistrate, “ I dare say — don^t you, 
Mr. Jinks ?” 

“ Certainly, Sir.” ‘ 

“ Have you any thing more to say?” inquired the magistrate. 

Mr. Pickwick had a great deal more to say, which he would 
no doubt have said, very little to his own advantage, or the 
magistrate’s satisfaction, if he had not, the moment he ceased 
speaking, been pulled by the sleeve by Mr. Weller, with whom 
he was immediately engaged in so earnest a conversation, that 
he suffered the magistrate’s inquiry to pass w’holly unnoticed. 
Mr. Nupkins was not the man to ask a quesiion of the kind 
twice over ; and so, with another preparatory cough, he pro- 
ceeded, amidst the reverential and admiring silence of the con- 
stables, to pronounce his decision. 

He should fine Weller two pounds for the first assault, and 
three pounds for the second. He should fine Winkle two 
pounds, and Snodgrass one pound, besides requiring them to 
enter into their own recognisance to keep the peace towards all 
his majesty’s subjects, and especially towards his liege servant, 
Daniel Grummer. Pickwick and Tupman he had t^lready held 
to bail. 

Immediately on the magistrate ceasing to speak, Mr, Pick- 
wick, with a smile mantling on his again good-humored counte- 
nance, stepped forward, and said — 

“ I beg the magistrate’s pardon, but may I request a few 
minutes’ private conversation with him, on a matter of deep im- 
portance to himself?” 

“ What I” said the magistrate. 

Mr. Pickwick repeated his request. 

“ This is a most extraordinary request,” said the magistrate — 

A private interview I” 

“A private interview,” replied Mr. Pickwick, firmly; “only, 
as a part of the information which I wish to communicate is 
derived from my servant, I should wish him to be present.” 

The magistrate looked at Mr. Jinks, Mr. Jinks looked at the 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


887 


magistrate, and the officers looked at each other in amazenoent. 
Mr. Napkins turned suddenly pale. Could the man Weller, in 
a moment of remorse, have divulged some secret conspiracy for 
his assassination? It was a dreadful thouglit. lie was a public 
man ; and he turned paler, as he thought of Julius Cmsai, and 
Mr. Percival. 

The magistrate looked at Mr. Pickwick, again, and beckoned 
Mr. Jinks. 

“ What do you think of this request, Mr. Jinks ?’’ murmured 
Mr. Nu{)kins. 

Mr. Jinks, wdio didn’t exactly know wffiat to think of it, and 
was afraid he might offend, smiled feebly, after a dubious fashion, 
and, screwing up the corners of his mouth, shook his head slowly 
from side to side. 

“Mr. Jinks,” said the magistrate, graveiy, “you are an 
ass. Sir.” 

At this little expression of opinion, Mr. Jinks smiled again— 
rather more feebly than before — and edged himself by degrees, 
back into his own corner. 

Mr. Nupkins debated the matter within himself for a few 
seconds, and then rising from his chair, and requesting Mr. 
Pickwick and Sam to follow him, led the way into a small room 
which opened into the justice parlor. Desiring Mr. Pickwick to 
walk to the further end of the little apartment, and holding his 
hand upon the half-closed door, that he might be able to effect 
an immediate escape, in case there was the least tendency to a 
display of hostilities, Mr. Nupkins expressed his readiness to 
hear the communication, whatever it might be. 

“ I will come to the point at once. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick : 
“ it affects yourself, and your credit materially. I have every 
reason to believe. Sir, that you are harboring in your house a 
gross impostor I” 

“Tw'O,” interrupted Sam; “Mulberry agin all natur’, for 
tears and willany.” 

“ Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ if I am to render myself in- 
telligible to this gentleman, I must beg you to control your 
feelings.” 

“Wery sorry. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller; “but when I 


J88 THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

think o’ that ’ere Job, I can’t help opening the waive a inch 
or two.” 

“In one word, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, “is iny servant right 
in suspecting that a certain Captain Fitz-Marshall is in the 
habit of visiting here? Because,” added Mr. Pickwick, as he 
saw that Mr. Nupkins was about to offer a very indignant inter- 
ruption — “ because, if he be, I know that person to be a — ” 

“ Hush, hush,” said Mr. Napkins, closing the door. “Know 
him to be what. Sir ?” 

“An unprincipled adventurer — a dishonorable character — a 
man who preys ui)on society, and makes easily-deceived |)eopIe 
his dupes. Sir; his absurd, his foolish, his wretched dupes. Sir,” 
said the excited Mr. Pickwick. 

“Dear me,” said Mr. Napkins, coloring up very red, and 
altering his whole manner directly ; “ dear me, Mr. — ” 

“Pickvick,” said Sam. 

“Pidvwick,” said the magistrate, “dear me, Mr. Pickwick 
i — ^pray take a seat — you cannot mean this? Captain Fitz- 
Marshall !” 

“Don’t call him a cap’en,” said Sara, “nor Fitz-Murshall 
neither ; he ain’t neither one nor t’other. lie’s a strolling 
actor, he is, and his name’s Jingle ; and if ever there was a 
wolf in a mulberry suit, that ’ere Job Trotter’s him.” 

“ It is very true. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, replying to the 
magistrate’s look of amazement; “my only business in this 
town, is to expose the person of whom we now speak.” 

And Mr. Pickwick proceeded to pour into the horror-stricken 
ear of Mr. Napkins, an abridged account of all Mr. Jingle’s 
atrocities. He related how he had first met him, how he had 
eloped with Miss Wardle, how he had cheerfully resigned the 
lady for a pecuniary consideration, how he had entrappotl him 
into a lady’s boarding-school at midnight, and how he (Mr. 
Pickwick) now felt it his duty to expose bis assumption of his 
present name and rank. , 

As the narrative proceeded, all the warm blood in the body 
of Mr. Napkins tingled up into the very tips of his ears. He 
had picked up the captain at a neighboring race-course. 
Charmed with his long list of aristocratic acquaintance, his 
extensive travel, and his fashionable demeanor, Mrs. Nupkins 


THE PICKWICK PAJPERS. 


S89 


a\id Miss Niipkins had exhibited Captain Fitz-Marshall, and 
qnoted Cajdain Fitz-Mars!iall, and hurled Captain Fitz-Mar- 
shall at the dev'oted heads of their select circle of acquaintance, 
until. their l)osont friends, Mrs. rorkenham and the Miss Porken- 
liains, and Mr. Sidney l^orkcnbain were ready to burst with 
jealousy and despair. And now to hear, after all, that he was 
a needy adventurer, a strollinj^ player, and if not a swindler, 
something so very like it, that it was hat'd to tell the difference I 
Heavens! what would the Porkenhains say I What would be 
the triumph of Mr. Sidney Porkenham, when he found that his 
addresses had been slighted for such a rival ! How should he 
meet the aye of old Porkenham at the ne.xt Quarter Sessions! — 
and what a handle would it be for the opposition magisterial 
party, if the story got abroad ! 

“ But after all,’^ said Mr. Nupkins, brightening up for a 
moment, after a long pause; “after all, this is a mere statement. 
Captain Fitz-Marshall is a man of very engaging manners, — 
and, I dare say, has many enemies. What proof have you, of 
the truth of these representations 

“ Confront me with him,” said Mr. Pickwick ; “that is all I 
ask, and all I require. Confront him with me, and my friend»i 
here; you will want no further proof.” 

“M''hy,” said Mr. Nupkins, “that might be very easily done, 
for he will be here to-night, and then there would be no occasion 
to make the matter public, just — just — for the young maids own 
sake, you know. I — I — should like to consult Mrs. Nupkins 
on the propriety of the step, in the first instance, though. At 
all events, Mr. Pickwick, we must despatch this legal business 
before we can do any thing else. Pray step back into the next 
room.” 

Into the next room they went. 

“ Grummer,” said the magistrate, in an awful voice. 

“Your wash-up,” replied Grummer, with the smile of a 
favorite. 

“Come, come, Sir,” said the magistrate sternly, “don’t let 
me see any of this levity here. It is very unbecoming, and I 
can assure you that you have very little to smile at. Was the 
account you gave me just now, strictly true ? Now be careful. 
Sir.” 


890 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** Tom wash-up,” stammered Grummer, ** I — ” 

“ Oh, you are confused, are you said the magistrate. “Mr, 
Jinks, you observe this confusion ?” 

“Certainly, Sir,” replied Jinks. 

“Now,” said the magistrate, “just repeat your statement, 
Grummer, and again I warn you to be careful. Mr. J inks, take 
his words down.” 

The unfortunate Grummer proceeded to restate his complaint, 
but what between Mr. Jiiiks’s taking down his words, and the 
magistrate’s taking them up : his natural tendency to rambling, 
and his extreme confusion, he managed to get involved, in some- 
thing under three minutes, in such a mass of entanglement and 
contradiction, that Mr. Nupkins at once declared he didn’t 
believe him. So the fines were remitted, and Mr. Jinks found 
a couple of bail in no time. And all these solemn proceedings 
having been satisfactorily concluded, Mr. Grummer was igno- 
miniously ordered out — an awful instance of the instability of 
human greatness, and the uncertain tenure of great men’s fa vor. 

Mrs. Nupkins was a majestic female in a blue gauze turban 
and a light bromi wig. Miss Nupkins possessed all her 
mamma’s haughtiness without the turban, and all her ill-nature 
without the wig; and whenever the exercise of these two 
amiable qualities involved mother and daughter in some un- 
pleasant dilemma, as they not unfrequently did, they both con- 
curred in laying the blame on the shoulders of Mr. Nupkins. 
Accordingly, when Mr. Nupkins sought Mrs. Nupkins, and 
detailed the communication which had been made by Mr. Pick- 
wick, Mrs. Nupkins suddenly recollected that she had always 
expected something of the kind; that she had always said it 
would be so ; that her advice was never taken ; that she really 
did not know what Mr. Nupkins supposed she was; and so 
forth. 

“ The idea I” said Miss Nupkins, forcing a tear of very scanty 
proportions, into the corner of each eye, “the idea of my being 
made such a fool of I” 

“Ah I you may thank your papa, my dear,” said Mrs. Nup- 
kins; “how I have implored and begged that man to inquire 
Into the Captain’s family connections; how I have urged and 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


891 


entreated liira to take some decisive step I I am qnite certain 
nobody would believe it — quite.” 

“But, my dear,” said Mr. Nupkins. 

“ Don’t talk to me, you aggravating thing, don’t,” said Mrs. 
Nupkins. 

“ My love,” said Mr. Nupkins, “you professed yourself very 
fond of Captain Fitz-Marshall. Y ou have constantly asked him 
here, my dear, and you have lost no opportunity of introducing 
him elsewhere.” 

“Didn’t I say so, Henrietta?” said Mrs. Nupkins, appeal- 
ing to her daughter with the air of a much-injured female — 
“ Didn’t I say that your papa would turn round, and lay all this 
at my door ? Didn’t I say so ?” Here Mrs. Nupkins sobbed. 

“ Oh, pal” remonstrated Miss Nupkins. And here she 
sobbed too. 

“ Isn’t it too much when he has brought all this disgrace and 
ridicule upon us, for him to taunt me with being the cause of 
it?” exclaimed Mrs. Nupkins. 

“ How can we ever show ourselves in society ?” said Miss 
Nupkins. 

“How can we face the Porkenhams?” said Mrs. Nupkins. 

“ Or the Griggs’s ?” said Miss Nupkins. 

“Or the Slummintowkens ?” said Mrs. Nupkins. “But what 
does your papa care I what is it to him At this dreadful 
reflection, Mrs. Nupkins wept with mental anguish, and Miss 
Nupkins followed on the same side. 

Mrs. Nupkins’s tears continued to gush forth with grea^^ 
velocity, until she liad gained a little time to think the matter 
over, when she decided in her own mind that the best thing to 
do, would be to ask Mr. Pickwick and his friends to remain 
until the Captain’s arrival, and then to give Mr. Pickwick the 
opportunity he sought. If it appeared that he had spoken 
truly, the Captain could be turned out of the house without 
noising the matter abroad ; and they could easily account to 
the Porkenhams for his disappearance, by saying that he had 
been a])pointed through the Court influence of his family, to the 
Governor-Generalship of Sierra Leone, or Sangur Point, or 
any other of those salubrious climates which enchant Europeans 


892 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


SO inncTi, that when they once get there, they can hardly ever 
prevail upon themselves to come back again. 

When Mrs. Nnpkiiis dried up her tears, Miss Nupkins dried 
Vi\) hei'x, and Mr. Nupkins was very glad to settle the matter as 
Mrs. Nupkins had proposed. So Mr. Pickwick and his friends, 
having washed olf all marks of their late encounter, were intro- 
duced to the ladies, and soon afterwards to their dinner ; and 
Mr. Weller, whom the magistrate, with his peculiar sagacity, 
had discon^ered in half an hour to be one of the finest fellows 
alive, was consigned to the care and guardianship of Mr. Muzzle, 
who was specially enjoined to take him below, and make much 
of him. 

“How de do. Sir?” said Mr. Muzzle, as he conducted Mr. 
Weller down the kitchen stairs. 

“Why, no con-siderable change has taken place in the state 
of my system, since I see you cocked up behind your governor's 
chair in the |)arlor, a little vile ago,” replied Sam. 

“You will excuse my not taking more notice of you then,” 
said Mr. Muzzle. “ You see master hadn’t introduced us, then. 
Lord, how fond he is of yon, Mr. Weller, to be sure I” 

“Ah,” said Sam, “what a pleasant chap he is I” 

“Ain’t he?” replied Mr. Muzzle. 

“ So much humor,” said Sam. 

“And such a man to speak,” said Mr. Muzzle. “How his 
ideas flow, don’t they ?” 

“Wonderful,” replied Sam; “they comes a pouring out, 
knocking each other’s heads so fast, they seem to stun one 
another; you hardly know what he’s arter, do you ?” 

“That’s the great merit of his style of speaking,” rejoined 
Mr. Muzzle. “Take care of the last step, Mr. Weller. Would 
you like to wash your hands. Sir, before we join the ladies ? 
Here’s a sink, with the water laid on. Sir, and a clean jack 
towel behind the door.” 

“Ah, perhaps 1 may as veil have a rinse,” replied Mr. 
Weller, ai>))lying plenty of yellow soap to the towel, and rubbing 
away till his face shone again. “ How many ladies are there?” 

“Only two in our kitchen,” said Mr. Muzzle, “cook and 
*ousemaid. We keep a boy to do the dirty work, and a gal be- 
sides, but they dine in the washus. ” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


893 


**0h, they dines in the washns, do they said Mr. Weller. 

*‘Yes,” replied Mr. Mazzle, “we tried ’em at our table 
when they .first come, but we couldn't keep ’em. The gal’s 
maimers is dreadful vulgar; and the boy breathes so very hard 
while he’s eating, that we found it impossible to sit at table with 
him.” 

“ What a young grampus !” said Mr. Weller. 

“ Oh, dreadful,” rejoined Mr. Muzzle; “but that is the worst 
of country service, Mr. Weller; the juniors is always so very 
savage. This way. Sir, if you please — this way.” 

And preceding Mr. Weller, with the utmost politeness, Mr. 
Muzzle conducted him into the kitchen. 

“Mary,” said Mr. Muzzle to the pretty servant-girl, “this 
is Mr. Weller, a gentleman as master has sent down, to be made 
as comfortable as possible.” 

“ And your master’s a knowin’ hand — and has just sent me 
to the right place,” said Mr. Weller, with a glance of admira- 
tion at Mary. “ If I was master o’ this here house, I should 
alvays find the materials for comfort vere Mary vas.” 

“Lor’, Mr. Weller!” said Mary, blushing. 

“Well, I never!” ejaculated the cook. 

“Bless me, cook, I forgot you,” said Mr. Muzzle. “Mr. 
Weller, let me introduce you.” 

“How are you. Ma’am?” said Mr. Weller. “ Wery glad to 
see you, indeed ; and hope our acquaintance may be a long ’un, 
as the gen’l’m’n said to the fi’ pun’ note.” 

When this ceremony of introduction had been gone through, 
the cook and Mary retired into the back kitchen to titter for 
ten minutes ; and then returning, all giggles and blushes, they 
sat down to dinner. 

Mr. Weller’s easy manner and conversational powers had 
such irresistible influence with his new friends, that before the 
dinner was half over they were on a footing of perfect intimacy, 
and in possession of a full account of the delinquency of Job 
Trotter. 

“I never could a-bear that Job,” said Mary. 

“No more you never ought to my dear,” replied Mr. 
Welle! 

“ Why not ?” inquired Mary. 


894 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


’Cos ugliness and svindlin’ never ought to be forrailiar vith 
elegance and wirtew,” replied Mr. Weller. “Ouglit they, Mr. 
Muzzle ?” 

“ Not by no means,” replied that gentleman. 

Here Mary laughed, and said the cook had made her ; and 
the cook laughed and said she hadn’t. 

I han’t got a glass,” said Mary. 

Drink vith me, my dear,” said Mr. Weller. “ Put your lips 
to this here tumbler, and then I can kiss you by deputy.” 

For shame, Mr. Weller,” said Mary. 

“ What’s a shame, my dear ?” 

Talkin’ in that way.” 

“Nonsense ; it ain’t no harm, it’s natur ; ain’t it, cook ?” 

“ Don’t ask me, imperence,” replied the cook, in a high state 
of delight; and hereupon the cook and Mary laughed again till 
what between the beer, and the cold meat, and the laughter com- 
bined, the latter young lady was brought to the verge of choking 
. — an alarming crisis, from which she was only recovered by 
sundry pats of the back, and other necessary attentions, most 
delicately administered by Mr. Samuel Weller. 

In the midst of all this jollity and conviviality, a loud ring 
was heard at the garden-gate, to which the young gentleman 
who took his meals in the wash-house, immediately responded. 
Mr. Weller was in the height of his attentions to the pretty 
house-maid; Mr. Muzzle was busy doing the honors of the 
table; and the cook had just paused to laugh, in the very act 
of raising a huge morsel to her lips, when the kitchen door 
opened, and in walked Mr. Job Trotter. 

We have said in walked Mr. Job Trotter, but the statement 
is not distinguished by our usual scrupulous adherence to fact. 
The door opened, and Mr. Trotter appeared. lie would Jiave 
walked in, and was in the very act of doing so, indeed, when 
catching sight of Mr. Weller, he involuntarily shrunk back a 
pace or two, and stood gazing on the unexpected scene before 
him, perfectly motionless with amazement and terror. 

“ Here he is,” said Sam, rising with great glee. “ Why, we 
were that wery moment a speaking o’ you. How are you? 
Vere have you been? Come in.” 

And laying his hand on the mulberry collar of the unresisting 



JOB TROTTER ENCOUNTERS SAM IN MR. MUZZLE’s KITCHEN. — Page 394 





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THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


895 


Job, Mr. Weller dragged him into the kitchen; and locking the 
door, liajided the key to Mr. Muzzle, who very coolly buttoned 
it up ill a side-pocket. 

“ Well, here’s a game,” cried Sam. “Only think o’ ray mas- 
ter havin’ the pleasure o’ meetiu’ your’ii up stairs, and me 
havin’ the joy o’ meetin’ you down here. How are you gettiu’ 
on, and how is the chandlery bis’iiess likely to do? Veil, I am 
so glad to see you ! How happy you look 1 It’s quite a treat 
to see you — ain’t it, Mr. Muzzle ?” 

“ Quite,” said Mr. Muzzle. 

“ So cheerful he is,” said Sam. 

“In such good spirits,” said Muzzle. 

“ And so glad to see us — that makes it so much more com- 
fortable,” said Sara. “ Sit down, sit down.” 

Mr. Trotter suffered himself to be forced into a chair by the 
fireside. He cast his small eyes on Mr. Weller, and then on 
Mr. Muzzle, but said nothing. 

“ Well, uow,” said Sam, “ afore these here ladies, I should 
just like to ask you, as a sort of curiosity, vether you don’t con- 
sider yourself as nice and veil-behaved a young gen’lm’n as ever 
used a pink, check pocket-handkerchief, and the number four 
collection ?” 

“ And as was ever a-going to be married to a cook,” said that 
lady, indignantly. “ The wilkiin I” 

“ And leave off his evil ways, and set up in the chandlery line, 
arterwards,” said the house-maid. 

“ Now, I’ll tell you what it is, young man,” said Mr. Muzzle, 
solemnly, enragied at the last two allusions, “ this here lady, 
(pointing to the cook,) keeps company with me ; and when you 
presume, Sir, to talk of keeping chandlers’ shops with her, you 
iiijure me in one of the most delicatest points in which one man 
can injure another. Do you understand that. Sir?” 

Here Mr. Muzzle, who had a great notion of his eloquence, 
in wiiiiih ho imitated his master, paused for a reidy. 

But Mr. Trotter made no reply. So Mr. Muzzle proceeded 
in a solemn manner — 

“ It is very probable. Sir, that you won’t be wanted up stairs 
for several minutes. Sir, because my master is at this moment 
particularly engaged in settling the hash of your master, Sir, 


896 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


and therefore you’ll have Icipiire, Sir, for a little private talk 
with me, Sir. Do you understand ihat^ Sir ?” 

Mr. Muzzle again paused for a reply ; and again Mr. Trottet 
disappointed him. 

“Well, then,” said Mr. Muzzle, “I’m very sorry to have to 
explain myself before the ladies, but the urgency of the case will 
be my excuse. The back kitchen’s empty. Sir ; if you will step 
in there. Sir, Mr. Weller will see fair, and we can have mutual 
satisfaction till the bell rings. Follow me. Sir.” 

As Mr. Muzzle uttered these words, he took a step or t wu 
towards the door; and by way of saving time, began to }ndl off 
his coat as he walked along. 

Now the cook no sooner heard the concluding words of this 
desperate challenge, and saw Mr. Muzzle about to put it into 
execution, than she uttered a loud and piercing shriek ; and 
rushing on Mr. Job Trotter, who rose from his chair on the 
instant, tore and buffeted his large, flat face, with an energy, ])ecu- 
liar to excited females, and twining her hands in his long, black 
hair, tore therefrom about enough to make five or six dozen of 
the very largest-sized mourning-rings. Having accomplished 
this feat with all the ardor which her devoted love for Mr. 
Muzzle inspired, she staggered back ; and being a lady of very 
excitable and delicate feelings, instantly fell under the dresser 
and fainted away. 

At this moment the bell rang. 

“ That’s for you. Job Trotter,” said Sam ; and before Mr 
Trotter could ofler remonstrance or reply — even before !»e had 
time to staunch the wounds inflicted by the insensible lady — Sara 
seized one arm and Mr. Muzzle the other ; and one pulling 
before, and the other pushing behind, they conveyed him up 
stairs, and into the parlor. 

It was an impressive tableau. Alfred Jingle, Esquire, alias 
Captain Fitz-Marshall, w'as standing near the door with his hat 
in his hand, and a smile on his face, wholly unmoved by his very 
unpleasant situation. Confronting him, stood Mr. Pickwick, 
who had evidently been inculcating some high moral lesson, for 
his left hand was beneath his coat tail, and his right extended in 
air, as was his wont when delivering himself of an impressive 
address. At a little distance stood Mr. Tupman with indignant 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


897 


countenance, carefully held back by his two younger friends ; and 
at the further end of the room were Mr. Nupkins, Mrs. Nupkins, 
and Miss Nupkins, gloomily grand, and savagely vexed. 

“ What prevents me,” said Mr. Nupkiiis, with magisterial 
dignity, as Job was brought in — “what prevents me from de- 
taining these men as rogues and impostors ? It is a foolish 
mercy. What prevents me 

“ Pride, old fellow, pride,” replied Jingle, quite at his ease. 
“Wouldn’t do — no go — caught a captain, eh ! — ha I ha! very 
good — husband for daughter — biter bit — make it public — not 
for worlds — look stupid — very I” 

“ Wretch,” said Mrs. Nupkins, “ we scorn your base insinua- 
tions. ” 

“ I always hated him,” added Henrietta. 

“ Oh, of course,” said Jingle. “ Tall young man — old lover 
. — Sidney Porkenliam — rich — fine fellow — not so rich as captain, 
though, eh ? — turn him away — off with him — any thing for cap- 
lain — nothing like captain any where — all the girls — ^raving 
mad — eh. Job, eh ?” 

Here Mr. Jingle laughed very heartily; and Job, rubbing 
his hands with delight, uttered the first sound he had given vent 
to, since he entered the house — a low noiseless chuckle, which 
seemed to intimate, that he enjoyed his laugh too much to let 
any of it escape in sound. 

“ Mr. Nupkins,” said the elderly lady, “this is not a fit con- 
versation for the servants to overhear. Let these wretches be 
removed.” 

“ Certainly, my dear,” said Mr. Nupkins. “Muzzle.” 

“ Your worship.” 

“ 0|)en the front door.” 

“ Yes, your worship.” 

“ Leave the house,” said Mr. Nupkins, waving his hand em 
phatically. 

Jingle smiled and moved towards the door. 

“ Stay,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

Jingle stopped. 

“ I might,” said Mr. Pickwick, “have taken a much greater 
revenge for the treatment I have experienced at your hands, and 
tliat of your hypocritical friend there.” 


898 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Here Job Trotter bowed with great politeness, and laid his 
hand upon his heart. 

“ 1 say,” said Mr. Pickwick, growing gradually angry, “ that 
T might have taken a greater revenge, but I content myself with 
exposing you, which I consider a duty I owe to society. This 
is a leniency. Sir, which I hope you will remember.” 

When Mr. Pickwick arrived at this point. Job Trotter, with 
facetious gravity, applied his hand to his ear, as if desirous not 
to lose a syllable he uttered. 

“And I have only to add. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, now 
thoroughly angry, “that I consider you a rascal, and a — a 
ruffian — and — and worse than any man I ever saw, or heard of, 
except that very pious and sanctified vagabond in the mulberry 
livery.” 

“ Ha I ha 1” said Jingle, “ good fellow Pickwick, — fine heart 
— stout old boy — but must not be passionate — bad thing — very 
— bye, bye — see you again some day — keep up your spirits — 
now, Job — trot.” 

With these words, Mr. Jingle stuck on his hat in his old 
fashion, and strode out of the room. Job Trotter paused, 
looked round, smiled, and then with a bow of mock solemnity 
to Mr. Pickwick, and a wink to Mr. Weller, tlm audacious sly- 
ness of which baffles all description, followed the footsteps of his 
hopeful master. 

“ Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, as Mr. Weller was following. 

“ Sir.” 

“ Stay here.” 

Mr. Weller seemed uncertain. 

“ Stay here,” repeated Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Mayn’t I polish that ’ere Job off, in the front garden ?” said 
Mr. Weller. 

“ Certainly not,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

Mayn’t I kick him out o’ the gate. Sir?” said Mr. Weller. 

“ Not on any account,” replied his master. 

For the first time since his engagement, Mr. Weller looked, 
for a moment, discontented and unhappy. But his countenance 
immediately cleared up, for the wily Mr. Muzzle, by concealing 
himself behind the street door, and rushing violently out, at the 
right instant, contrived with great dexterity to overturn both 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


399 


Mr. Jingle and his attendant down the flight of steps, into tho 
American aloe tubs that stood beneath. 

Having discharged my duty, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick to 
Mr. Nupkins, “ I will, with my friends, bid you farewell. Wliile 
we thank you for such hospitality as we have received, permit 
me to assure you in our joint names that we should not have 
accepted it, or consented to extricate ourselves in this way, from 
our previous dilemma, had we not been impelled by a strong 
sense of duty. We return to Loudon to-morrow. Your secret 
is safe with us.” 

Having thus entered his protest against their treatment of the 
morning, Mr. Pickwick bowed low to the ladies ; and notwith- 
standing the solicitations of the family, left the room with his 
friends. 

“ Get your hat, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“It’s below stairs, Sir,” said Sam, and he ran down after it. 

Now there was nobody in the kitchen, but the pretty house- 
maid ; and as Sam’s hat was mislaid he had to look for it, and 
the pretty housemaid lighted him. They had to look all over the 
place for the hat ; and the pretty housemaid, in her anxiety to find 
it, went down on her knees, and turned over all the things that 
were heaped together in a little corner by the door. It was an 
awkward corner. You couldn’t get at it without shutting the 
door first. 

“ Here it is,” said the pretty housemaid. “ This is it, ain’t it 

“ Let me look,” said Sam. 

The pretty housemaid had stood the candle on the floor ; and 
as it gave a very dim light, Sam was obliged to go down on his 
knees before he could see whether it really was his own hat or 
not. It was a remarkably small corner, and so — it was nobody’s 
fault but the man’s who built the house — Sam and the pretty 
housemaid were necessarily very close together. 

“ Yes, this is it,” said Sam. “ Good-by.” 

“ Good-by,” said the pretty housemaid. 

“ Good-by,” said Sam ; and as he said it, he dropped the 
hat that had cost so much trouble looking for. 

“ How awkward you are 1” said the pretty housemaid. 
« You’ll lose it again, if you don’t take care.” 

So just to prevent his losing it again, she put it on for him. 


4()0 THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

Whether it was that the pretty housemaid’s face looked 
prettier still, when it was raised towards Sam’s, or whether it 
was the accidental consequence of their being so near each 
other, is matter of uncertainty to this day ; but Sam kissed her. 

“You don’t mean to say you did that on purpose,” said 
the pretty housemaid, blushing. 

“No, I didn’t then,” said Sam; “but J will now.” 

So he kissed her again. 

“ Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, calling over the bannisters. 

“ Coming, Sir,” replied Sam, running up stairs. 

“ How long you have been I” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ There was something behind the door. Sir, which perwented 
our getting it open, for ever so long,” replied Sam. 

And this was the first passage of Mr. Weller’s first love. 


CHAPTER XXYII. 


'WUICn CONTAINS A BRIEF ACCOUNT OP THE PROGRESS OP THE 
ACTION OF BARBELL AGAINST PICKWICK. 

^A^^NG accomplished the main end and object of his jour- 
ney by tlie exposure of Jingle, Mr. Pickwick resolved on im- 
mediately returnino: to London, with tlie view of becominjr ac- 
quainted with the proceeding's which liad been taken ajjainst 
him, in the mean time, by Messrs. Dodson and Fogjr. Acting 
upon this resolution with all the energy and decision of his 
character, he mounted to the back seat of the first coach, 
which left Ipswich on tlie morning after the memorable occur- 
rences detailed at length in the two preceding chapters ; and 
accompanied by his three friends and Mr. Samuel Weller, 
arrived in the metropolis in perfect health and safety the same 
evening. 

Here the friends for a short time separated. Messrs. Tup- 
man, Winkle, and Snodgrass, repaired to their several homes to 
make such preparations as might be requisite for their forth- 
coming visit to Dingley Dell ; and Mr. Pickwick and Sain took 
up their present abode in very good, old-fashioned, and comfort- 
able quarters, to wit, the George and Vulture Tavern and 
Hotel, George Yard, Lombard street. 

Mr. Pickwick had dined, finished his second pint of particu- 
lar port, pulled his silk handkerchief over his head, put his feet 
on the fender, and thrown himself back in an easy chair, wdien 
the entrance of Mr. Weller with his carpet-bag, aroused him 
from his tranquil meditations. 

“Sarn,”said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Sir,” said Mr. Weller. 

“I have just been thinking, Sam,” said .Mr. Pickwick, “ that 
having left a good many things at Mrs. Bardell’s, in Goswell 
26 ( 401 ) 


40S 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


street, X ought to arrange for taking them away, before I leave 
town again.” 

“ Wery good, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“ I could send them to Mr. Tupraan’s for the present, Sara,” 
continued Mr. Pickwick, “but, before we take lliem away, it 
is necessary that they should be looked up. and put together. 
I wish you would step up to Gogweli street, Sam, and arrange 
about it.” 

“At once. Sir?” inquired Mr. Weller. 

‘ At once,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “ And stay, Sam,” added 
Mr. Pickwick, pulling out his purse, “ there is some rent to pay. 
The quarter is not due till Christmas, but you may pay it, and 
have done with it. A month’s notice terminates my tenancy. 
Here it is, written out. Give it, and tell Mrs. Bardell she may 
put a bill up, as soon as she likes.” 

■‘Wery good. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller; “any thin’ more, 
Sir?” 

Nothing more, Sara.” 

Mr. Weller stepped slowdy to the door, as if he expected 
something further; slowly opened it, slowly stepped out, and had 
slow'ly closed it wdthin a couple of inches, when Mr. Pickwick 
called out — 

“ Sam.” 

“Yes, Sir,” said Mr. Weller, stepping quickly back, and 
closiiig the door behind him. 

“ I have no objection, Sam, to your endeavoring to ascertain 
how Mrs. Bardell herself seems disposed towards me, and whether 
it is really probable that this vile and groundless action is to 
be carried to extremity. I say I do not object to your doing 
this, if you wish it, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

Sam gave a short nod of intelligence and left the room. ATr. 
Pickwick drew' the silk handkerchief once more over his he.nd, 
and compDsed himself for a nap; Mr. Weller promptly walked 
forth, to execute his commission. 

It was nearly nine o’clock when he reached Goswell street. 
A couple of candles were burning in the little front parlor, and 
a con])le of caps were reflected on the window-blind. Mrs 
Bardell had got company. 

Mr. Weller knocked at the door, and after a pretty long in'- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


403 


tcrval — occupied by the party without in whistliu" a tunc, and 
by tlie party within in persuading a refractory flat candle to 
allow itself to be lighted — a pair of small boots pattered over 
the floor-cloth, and Master Bardell presented himself 

“Yell, young township,” said Sam, “how’s mother?” 

“She’s pretty well,” replied Master Bardell, “so am 1.” 

“ Yell, that’s a mercy,” said Sam; “tell her I want to speak 
to her, my hiufant fernomenon.” 

Master Bardell, thus adjured, placed the refractory flat candle 
on the bottom stair, and vanished into the front parlor with his 
message. 

The two caps reflected on the window-blind, were the respec- 
tive head-dresses of a couple of Mrs. Bardell’s most particular 
acquaintance, who had just stepped in, to have a quiet cup of 
tea, and a little warm supper of a couple of sets of pettitoes and 
some toasted cheese. The cheese was simmering and browning 
away, most delightfully, in a little Dutch oven before the fire, 
and the pettitoes were getting on deliciously in a little tin sauce- 
paji on the hob ; and Mrs. Bardell and her two friends were 
getting on very well, also, in a little quiet conversation about 
and concerning all their particular friends and acquaintance, 
when Master Bardell came back from answering the door, 
and delivered the message intrusted to him by Mr. Samuel 
Weller. 

“Mr. Pickwick’s servant !” said Mrs. Bardell, turning pale. 

“ Bless my soul 1” said Mrs. Cluppins. 

“ Well, I raly would not ha’ believed it, unless I had ha’ hap- 
pened to ha’ been here !” said Mrs. Sanders. 

Mrs. Cluppins was a little brisk, busy-looking woman ; and 
Mrs. Sanders was a big, fat, heavy-faced personage ; and the 
two were the company. 

Mrs. Bardell felt it proper to be agitated ; and as none of 
the three exactly knew whether, under /existing circumstances, 
any communication otherwise than through Dodson and Fogg, 
ought to be held with Mr. Pickwick’s servant, they were all 
rather taken by surprise. In this state of indecision, obviously 
the first thing to be done, was to thump the boy for finding Mr. 
Weller at the door. So his mother thumped him, and he cried 
melodiously. 

) 


404 


THE PICKWICK PAPEES. 


‘‘Hold your noise — do — you naughty creetur,” said Mra 
Bardell. 

“ Yes ; don’t worrit your poor mother,” said Mrs. Sanders. 

“ She’s quite enough to worrit her, as it is, without you, 
Tommy,’' said Mrs. Cluppins, with sympathizing resignation. 

“ Ah I worse luck, poor lamb I” said Mrs. Sanders. 

At all which moral reflections. Master Bardell howled the 
louder. 

“Now what shall I do?” said Mrs. Bardell to Mrs 
Cluppins. 

“ / think you ought to see him,” replied Mrs. Cluppins. “But 
on no account without a witness.” 

“ I think two witnesses would be more lawful,” said Mrs. 
Sanders, who, like the other friend, was bursting with cu- 
riosity. 

“ Perhaps he’d better come in here,” said Mrs. Bardell. 

“To be sure,” replied Mrs. Cluppins, eagerly catching at the 
idea. “Walk in, young man; and shut the street door first, 
please.” 

Mr. Weller immediately took the hint; and presenting 
himself in the parlor, explained his business to Mrs. Bardell, 
thus: 

“ Wery sorry to ’casion any personal inconwenience, ma’am, 
as the housebreaker said to the old lady vhen he put her on the 
fire ; but as me and my governor’s only just come to town, and 
is just going away agin, it can’t be helped, you see.” 

“ Of course the young man can’t help the faults of his 
master,” said Mrs. Cluppins, much struck by Mr. Weller’s ap- 
pearance and conversation. 

“ Certainly not,” chimed in Mrs. Sanders, who, from certain 
wistful glances at the little tin saucepan, seemed to be engaged 
in a mental calculation of the probable extent of the pettitoes, 
in the event of Sam’s being asked to stop to supper. 

“ So all I’ve come about, is just this here,” said Sam, disre- 
garding the interruption — “First, to give my governor’s notice 
—there it is. Secondly, to pay the rent — here it is. Thirdly, to 
say as all his things is to be put together, and given to any body 
as we sends for ’em. Fourthly, that you may let the place as 
soon as you like : and that’s all.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


405 


'‘Whatever has happened,” said Mrs. Bardell, “I always 
have said, and always will say, that in every respect but one, 
Mr. Pickwick has always behaved himself like a perfect 

gentleman. Ilis money always was as good as the bank 

always.” 

As Mrs. Bardell said this, she applied her handkerchief to 
her eyes, and went out of the room to get the receipt. 

Sam well knew that he had only to remain quiet, and the 
women were sure to talk ; so he looked alternately at the tin 
saucepan, the toasted cheese, the wall, and the ceiling in pro- 
found silence. 

“ Poor dear I” said Mrs. Cluppins. 

“ Ah, poor thing !” replied Mrs. Sanders. 

Sam said nothing. He saw they were coming to the subject. 

“I raly cannot contain myself,” said Mrs. Cluppins, “when I 
think of such perjury. I don’t wish to say any thing to make 
you uncomfortable, young man, but your master’s an old brute, 
and I wish I had him hereto tell him so.” 

“ I vish you had,” said Sam. 

“To see how dreadful she takes on, going moping about, and 
taking no pleasure in nothing, except when her friends conies 
in, out of charity, to sit with her, and make her comfortable,” 
resumed Mrs. Cluppins, glancing at the tin saucepan and the 
Dutch oven, “it’s shocking.” 

“ Barbareous,” said Mrs. Sanders. 

“ And your master, young man, a gentleman with money, as 
could never feel the expense of a wife, no more than nothing,” 
continued Mrs. Cluppins, with great volubility; “why there 
ain’t the faintest shade of an excuse for his behavior. Why 
don’t he marry her ?” 

“ Ah,” said Sam, “to be sure, that’s the question.” 

“Question, indeed,” retorted Mrs. Cluppins; “she’d question 
him, if she’d my spirit. Hows’ever, there is law for us women, 
mis’rable creeturs as they’d make us, if they could ; and that 
your master will find out, young man, to his cost, afore he’s six 
mouths older.” 

At this consolatory reflection, Mrs. Cluppins bridled up, and 
smiled at Mrs. Sanders, who smiled back again. 


406 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** Tlie action’s going on, and no mistake,” tlionght Sam, as 
Mw Hardeli re-entered with the receipt. 

** Here’s the receipt, Mr. Weller,” said Mrs. Bardell, “and 
here’s the change, and I hope you’ll take a little drop of 
something to keep the cold out, if it’s only for old acquaintance’ 
sake, Mr. Weller.” 

Sam saw the advantage he should gain, and at once acquiesced, 
whereupon Mrs. Bardell produced from a sipall closet a black 
bottle and a wine-glass, and so great was her abstraction in her 
deep mental affliction, that, after filling Mr. Weller’s glass, she 
brought out three more wine-glasses, and filled them too 

“Lauk, Mrs. Bardell,” said Mrs. Cluppins, “see what you’ve 
been and done.” 

“Well, that is a good one!” ejaculated Mrs. Sanders. 

“Ah, my poor head!” said Mrs. Bardell, with a faint smile. 

Sam understood all this, of course, so he said at once, that 
he never could drink before supper, unless a lady drank with 
him. A great deal of laughing ensued, and then Mrs. Sanders 
volunteered to humor him, so she took a slight sip out of her 
glass. Then Sam said it must go all around, so they all took 
a slight sip. Then little Mrs. Cluppins proposed as a toast, 
“ Success to Bardell against Pickwick and then the ladies 
emptied their glasses in honor of the sentiment, and got very 
talkative directly. 

“ I suppose you’ve heard what’s going forward, Mr. Weller,” 
said Mrs. Bardell. 

“I’ve heerd something on it,” replied Sam. 

“ It’s a terrible thing to be dragged before the public in that 
way, Mr. Weller,” said Mrs. Bardell, “but I sec now, that it’s 
the only thing I ought to do, and my lawyers, Mr. Dodson and 
Fogg, tell me that, with the evidence as we shall call, we must 
succeed. I don’t know what I should do, Mr. Weller, if I 
didn’t.” 

The mere idea of Mrs. Bardell’s failing in her action, affected 
Mrs. Sanders so deeply, that she was under the necessity of 
re-filling and re-emptying her glass immediately ; feeling, as she 
said afterwards, that if she hadn’t had the presence of mind to 
have done so, she must have dropped. 

“Yen is it expected to come on ?” inquired Sam 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


407 


“Either in February or March,” replied Mrs. Bardell. 

** What a number of witnesses there’ll be, won’t there?” said 
Mrs. Clui)[>ins. 

“Ah, won’t there!” replied Mrs. Sanders. 

“And won’t Mr. Dodson and Fogg be wild if the plaintiff 
shouldn’t get it?” added Mrs. Cluppins, “when they do it all on 
speculation I” 

“Ah! won’t they!” said Mrs. Sanders. 

“But the plaintiff must get it,” resumed Mrs. Cluppins. 

“I hope so,” said Mrs. Bardell. 

“Oli, there can’t be any doubt about it,” rejoined Mrs. 
Sanders. 

“Veil,” said Sam, rising and setting down his glass, “all I 
can say is, that I vish you may get it.” 

“ Thank’ee, Mr. Weller,” said Mrs. Bardell fervently. 

“And of them Dodson and Fogg, as does these sort o’ things 
on spec,” continued Mr. Weller, “as veil as for the other kind 
and gen’rous people o’ the same purfession, as sets people by 
the ears free gratis for nothin’, and sets their clerks to work to 
find out little disputes among their neighbors and acquaintance 
as vants settlin’ by means o’ lawsuits — all I can say o’ them is, 
that 1 vish they had the revard I’d give ’em.” 

“Ah, I wish they had the reward that every kind and generous 
heart would be inclined to bestow upon them,” said the grati- 
fied Mrs. Bardell. 

“Amen to that,” replied Sam, “and a fat and happy livin’ 
they’d get out of it Vish you good night, ladies.” 

To the great relief of Mrs. Sanders, Sam was allowed to 
depart, without any reference on the part of the hostess to the 
pettitoes and toasted cheese, to which the ladies, with such 
juvenile assistance as Master Bardell could afford, soon after- 
wards rendered the amplest justice — indeed they wholly vanished, 
before their strenuous exertions. 

Mr. Weller wended his way back to the George and Vulture, 
and faithfully recounted to his master, such indications of the 
sharp practice of Dodson and Fogg, as he had contrived to pick 
up in his visit to Mrs. Bardell’s. An interview with Mr. 
Berker next day, more than confirmed Mr. Weller’s statement; 
and Mr. Pickwick was fain to prepare for his Chilstmas visit to 


4Q8 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Dingley Dell, with the pleasant anticipation that some two of 
three months afterwards, an action brought against him for 
damages sustained by reason of a breach of promise of marriage, 
w’ould be publicly tried in the Court of Common Pleas ; the 
plaintiff liaving all the advantages derivable not only from the 
force of circumstances, but from the sharp practice of Dodson 
and Fogg to boot. 


CHAPTER XXYIII. 


8AMUEL WELLER MAKES A PILGRIMAGE TO DORKING, AND 
BEHOLDS HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

There still remaining an interval of two days, before the 
time agreed upon for the departure of the Pickwickians to 
Dingley Dell, Mr. Weller sat himself down in a back room at 
the George and Vulture, after eating an early dinner, to muse on 
the best way of disposing of his time. It was a remarkably 
fine day ; and he had not turned the matter over in his mind 
ten minutes, when he was suddenly struck filial and afifectionate ; 
and it occurred to him so strongly that he ought to go down 
to see his father, and pay his duty to his mother-in-law, that 
he was lost in astonishment at his own remissness in never think- 
ing of this moral obligation before. Anxious to atone for his 
past neglect without another hour’s delay, he straightway 
walked up stairs to Mr. Pickwick, and requested leave of absence 
for this laudable purpose. 

“ Certainly, Sara, certainly,” said Mr. Pickwick, his eyes 
glistening with delight at this manifestation of good feeling on 
the part of his attendant : “certainly, Sam.” 

Mr. Weller made a grateful bow. 

“ I am very glad to see that you have so high a sense of 
your duties as a son, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ I always had. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“ That’s a very gratifying reflection, Sam,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick, approvingly. 

“ Wery, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller ; “ if ever I vanted any thin’ 
o’ my father, I always asked for it in a wery ’spectful and obligin’ 
manner. If he didn’t give it mo, I took it, for fear I should be 
led to do any thin’ wrong, through not havin’ it. I saved him 
a world o’ trouble this vay, Sir.” 

“ That’s not precisely what I meant, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick 
shaking his bead> with a slight smilD.* 

r400) 


no 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


*‘A11 good feelin’, Sir — the wcry best intentions, as the 
gen’l’in’n said ven he run away from liis wife, ’cos she seemed 
unhappy with him,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“You may go, Sara,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Thank’ee Sir,” replied Mr. Weller; and having made his 
best bow, and put on his best clothes, Sara planted himself on 
the top of the Arundel coach, and journeyed on to Dorking. 

The Marquis of Granby, in Mrs. Weller’s time, was quite a 
model of a road-side public house of the better class — just large 
enough to be convenient, and small enough to be snug. On 
the opposite side of the road was a large signboard on a high 
post, representing the head and shoulders of a gentleman with 
an apoplectic countenance, in a red coat, with deep blue facings, 
and a touch of the same over his three-cornered hat, for a sky. 
Over that, again, were a pair of flags, and beneath the last but- 
ton of his coat were a couple of cannon ; and the whole formed 
an expressive and undoubted likeness of the Marquis of Granby 
of glorious memory. The bar window displayed a choice col- 
lection of geranium plants, and a well-dusted row of spirit phials. 
The open shutters bore a variety of goldeii inscriptions, eulo- 
gistic of good beds and neat wines; and the choice group of 
countrymen and hostlers lounging about the stable-door and 
horse-trough, afforded presumptive proof of the excellent quality 
of the ale and spirits which were sold within. Sam Weller 
paused, when he dismounted from the coach, to note all these 
little indications of a thriving business, with the eye of an ex- 
perienced traveler; and having done so, stepped in at once, 
highly satisfied with every thing he had observed. 

“Now, then,” said a shrill female voice, the instant Sara 
thrust in his head at the door, “ what do you want, young 
mai. ?” 

Sara looked round in the direction whence the voice proceeded. 
It came from a rather stout lady of comfortable appearance, 
who was seated beside the fire-place in the bar, blowing the fire 
to make the kettle boil for tea. She was not alone, for on the 
other side of the fire-place, sitting bolt upright in a high- 
backed chair, was a man in threadbare black clothes, with a back 
almost as long and stiff as that of the chair itself, who caught 
Bara’s most particular and especial attention at once. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 41i 

He was a prim-faced, red-nosed man, with a long thin conn- 
tennnee and a semi-rattlesnake sort of eye — rather sharp, but 
decidedly bad. He wore very short trowsers, and black cotton 
stockings, which, like the rest of his apparel, were particularly 
rusty. His looks were starched, but his white neckerchief was 
not ; and its long limp ends straggled over his closely-buttoned 
waistcoat in a very uncouth and unpicturesque fashion. A pair 
of old, worn beaver gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, and a faded 
green umbrella, with plenty of whalebone sticking through the 
bottom, as if to counterbalance the want of a handle at the top, 
lay on a chair beside him : and being disposed in a very tidy 
and careful manner, seemed to imply that the red-nosed man, 
whoever he was, had no intention of going away in a hurry. 

To do the red-nosed man justice, he would have been very 
far from wise if he had entertained any such intention, for, to 
judge from all appearances, he must have been possessed of a 
most desirable circle of acquaintance, if he could have reasonably 
expected to be more comfortable any where else. The fire was 
blazing brightly under the influence of the bellows, and the kettle 
was singing gaily, under the influence of both. A small tray of 
tea-things was arranged on the table ; a plate of hot, buttered 
toast was gently simmering before the fire ; and the red-nosed 
man himself was busily engaged in converting a large slice of 
bread into the same agreeable edible, through the instrumen- 
tality of a long brass toasting-fork. Beside him, stood a glass 
of reeking hot pine-apple rum and water, with a slice of lemon 
in it; and every time the red-nosed man stopped to bring the 
round of bread to his eye, with the view of ascertaining how it 
got on, he imbibed a drop or two of the hot pine-apple rum and 
water, and smiled upon the rather stout lady, as she blew the 
fire. 

Sam was so lost in the contemplation of this comfortable 
scene, that he suffered the first inquiry of the rather stout lady 
to pass wholly unheeded. It was not until it had been twice 
Tcpeated, each time in a shriller tone, that he became conscious 
of the impropriety of his behavior. 

“ Governor in ?” inquired Sam, in reply to the question. 

“ No, he isn’t,” replied Mrs. Weller, for the rather stout lady 
was no other than the quondam relict and sole executrix of the 


412 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


dead-and-gone Mr. Clarke ; — “ No, he isn’t, and I don’t expect 
him either.” 

“ I suppose he’s a drivin’ up to-day ?” said Sam. 

“ lie may be, or he may not,” replied Mrs. Weller, buttering 
the round of toast which the red-nosed man had just finished, 
“ I don’t know, and what’s more, I don’t care. Ask a blessiii’, 
Mr. Stiggins.” 

The red-nosed man did as he was desired, and instantly com- 
menced on the toast with fierce voracity. 

The appearance of the red-nosed man had induced Sara, at 
first sight, to more than half suspect that he was the deputy 
shepherd, of whom his estimable parent had spoken. Tlie mo- 
ment he saw him eat, all doubt on the subject was removed, and 
he perceived at once that if he proposed to take up his tempo- 
rary quarters w'here he was, he must make his footing good 
without delay. He therefore commenced proceedings by putting 
his arm over the half-door of the bar, coolly unbolting it, and 
leisurely walking in. 

Mother-in-law,” said Sam, “how are you ?” 

“ Why, I do believe he is a Weller,” said Mrs. W., raising her 
eyes to Sam’s face, with no very gratified expression of counte- 
nance. 

“ I rayther think he is,” said the imperturbable Sam ; “ and I 
hope this here reverend gen’l’m’n’ll excuse me saying that I wish 
I was the Weller as owns you, mother-in-law.” 

This was a double-barrel compliment; it implied that Mrs. 
Weller was a most agreeable female, and also that Mr. Stiggins 
had a clerical appearance. It made a visible impression at once ; 
and Sam followed up his advantage by kissing his mother- 
in-law. 

“Get along with you,” said Mrs. Weller, pushing him away. 

“ For shame, young man,” said the gentleman with the red 
nose. 

“No offence. Sir, no offence,” replied Sam; “you’re wery 
right, though ; it ain’t the right sort o’ thing, ven mother-in-law 
is young and good-looking, is it. Sir?” 

“ It’s all vanity,” said Mr. Stiggins. 

“ Ah, so it is,” said Mrs. Weller, setting her cap to rights. 

Sam thought it was, too, but he held hia pei^e. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


4i8 


The deputy shepherd seemed by no means best pleased with 
Sam’s an'ival ; and when the first effervescence of the compli- 
ment had subsided, even Mrs. Weller looked as if she could 
have spared him without the smallest inconvenience. Ilowe^er, 
there he was ; and as he couldn’t be decently turned out, they 
all three sat down to tea. 

“ And how’s father ?” said Sam. 

At this inquiry Mrs. Weller raised her hands, and turned up 
her eyes, as if the subject were too painful to be alluded to. 

Mr. Stiggiiis groaned. 

“ What’s the matter with that ’ere gen’l’m’n ?” inquired Sara. 

“ lie’s shocked at the way your father goes on in — ” replied 
Mrs. Weller. 

“ Oh, he is, is he ?” said Sam, ’ 

“ And with too good reason,” added Mrs. Weller, gravely. 

Mr. Stiggins took up a fresh piece of toast, and groaned 
heavily. 

“ lie is a dreadful reprobate,” said Mrs. Weller. 

“ A man of wrath 1” exclaimed Mr. Stiggins. And he took 
a large semi-circular bite out of the toast, and groaned again. 

Sam felt very strongly disposed to give the reverend Mr. 
Stiggins something to groan for, but he repressed his inclina- 
tion, and merely asked, “ What’s the old ’un up to now ?” 

“Up to, indeed?” said Mrs. Weller; “oh, he has a hard 
heart. Night after night does this excellent man — don’t frown, 
Mr. Stiggins, I will say you are an excellent man — come and 
sit here, for hours together, and it has not the least effect upon 
him. ” 

“ Well, that is odd,” said Sam. “ It ’ud have a wery con- 
siderable effect upon me, if I wos in his place, I know that.” 

“ The fact is, my young friend,” said Mr. Stiggins, solemnly, 
“ he has an obdurate bosom. Oh, my young friend, who else 
could have resisted the pleading of sixteen of our fairest sisters, 
and withstood their exhortations to subscribe to our noble 
society for jiroviding the infant negroes in the West Indies with 
flannel waistcoats and moral pocket-handkerchiefs ?” 

“What’s a moral pocket-ankercher ?” said Sam; “I never 
Bee one o’ them articles of furniter.” 

** Those which combine amusement with instruction, my 


414 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


young frieVid,’’ replied Mr. Stiggins, “blending select tales 
with wood-cuts.” 

“ Oh, I know,” said Sara, “ them as hangs up in the linen- 
drapers’ shops with beggars’ petitions and all that ’ere upon 
’em ?” 

Mr. Stiggins began a third round of toast, and n( dded 
assent. 

“ And he wouldn’t be persuaded by the ladies, wouldn’t he ?” 
said Sam. 

“ Sat and smoked his pipe, and said the infant negroes 
were — what did he say the infant negroes were ?” said Mrs 
Weller. 

“ Little humbugs,” replied Mr. Stiggins, deeply affected. 

“ Said the infant negroes were little humbugs,” repeated 
Mrs. Weller. And they both groaned at the atrocious conduct 
of the elder Mr. Weller. 

A great many more iniquities of a similar nature might have 
been disclosed, only the toast being all eat, the tea having got 
very weak, and Sam holding out no indications of meaning to 
go, Mr. Stiggins suddenly recollected that he had a most i)ress' 
ing appointment with the shepherd, * and took himself off 
accordingly. 

The tea things had been scarcely put away, and the hearth 
swept up, when the London coach deposited Mr. Weller, 
senior, at the door, his legs deposited him in the bar, and his 
eyes showed him his son. 

“ What, Sammy I” exclaimed the father. 

“ What, old Nobs I” ejaculated the son. And they shook 
hands heartily. 

“ Wery glad to see you, Sammy,” said the elder Mr. Wel- 
ler, “ though how you’ve managed to get over your mother- 
in-law, is a mystery to me. I only vish you’d write me out the 
receipt, that’s all.” 

“ Hush !” said Sam, “ she’s at home, old feller.” 

“She ain’t vithin hearin’,” replied Mr. Weller; “she always 
goes and blows up, down stairs, for a couple of hours arter 
tea; so we’ll just give ourselves a damp, Sammy.” 

Saying this, Mr. Weller mixed two glasses of si)irits and 
water, and produced a couple of pipes ; and the father and sou 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


IIS 

Bitting: clown opposite each other, Sam on one side the fire, ia 
the hi^-h’hacked chair, and Mr Weller, senior, on the other, in 
an easy ditto, tliey proceeded to enjoy themselves with all due 
gravity. 

“Any body been here, Sammy?” asked Mr. Weller, senior, 
drily, after a long silence. 

Sam nodded an expressive assent. 

“ Red-nosed chop ?” inquired Mr. Weller. 

Sam nodded again. 

“ Amiable man, that ’ere, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, smoking 
violently. 

“ Seems so,” observed Sam. 

“ Good hand at accounts,” said Mr. Weller. 

“ Is he ?” said Sam. 

“ Borrows eighteen pence on Monday, and comes on Tues- 
day for a shillin’ to make it up half a crown ; calls again on 
Vensday for another half crown to make it five shillin’s, and 
goes on doubling, till he gets it up to a five pund note in no 
time, like them sums in the ’rithmetic book ’bout the nails in 
the horse’s shoes, Sammy.” 

Sam intimated by a nod that he recollected the problem 
alluded to by his parent. 

“ So you vouldn’t subscribe to the flannel veskits ?” said Sam, 
after another interval of smoking. 

“ Cert’nly not,” — replied Mr. Weller; “what’s the good o’ 
flannel veskits to the young niggers abroad ? But I’ll tell you 
what it is, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, lowering his voice, and 
bending across the fire-place, “ I’d come down wery handsome 
towards straight veskits for some people at home.” 

As Mr. Weller said this, he slowly recovered his former 
position, and winked at his first-born in a profound manner. 

“ It cert’nly seems a queer start to send out pocket-ankechers 
t'j people as don’t know the use on ’em,” observed Sam. 

“ They’re alvays a doin’ some gammon of that sort, Sammy,” 
replied his father. “T’other Sunday I vas walkin’ up the road, 
v( n who should I sec a standin’ at a chapel-door, with a blue 
soup-plate in her hand, but your mother-in-law. I werily 
believe there was change for a couple o’ suv’rius in it, then, 
Sammy, all in ha’pence ; and as the people come out, they 


416 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


rattled the pennies in, till you’d ha’ thought that no mortal plate 
aa ever was baked, could ha’ stood the wear and tear. What 
d’ye think it was all for ?” 

“ For another tea drinkin’, perhaps,” said Sam. 

‘‘Not a biton it,” replied the father; “for the shepherd’s 
water-rate, Sammy.” 

“ The shepherd’s water-rate I” said Sam. 

“ Ay,” replied Mr. Weller, “ there was three quarters owin’ 
and the shepherd hadn’t paid a farden, not he — perhaps it might 
be on account that the water warn’t o’ much use to him, for it’s 
wery little o’ that tap he drinks, Sammy, wery; he knows a 
trick worth a good half dozen of that, he does. Ilows’ever, it 
warn’t paid, and so they cuts the water off. Down goes the 
shepherd to chapel, gives out as he’s a persecuted saint, and 
says he hopes the heart of the turncock as cut the water off, ’ll 
be softened, and turned in the right vay, but he rayther thii ks 
he’s booked for somethin’ uncomfortable. Upon this, the womr*u 
calls a meetin’, sings a hymn, wotes your mother-in-law into tne 
chair, wolunteers a col-lection next Sunday, and hands it all 
over to the shepherd. And if he ain’t got enough out on ’em. 
Sammy, to make him free of the water company for life,” sai(> 
Mr. Weller, in conclusion, “I’m one Dutchman, and you’re 
another, and that’s all about it.” 

Mr. Weller smoked for some minutes in silence, and then re- 
sumed — 

“The worst o’ these here shepherds is, my boy, that they 
reg’larly turns the heads of all the young ladies about here. 
Lord bless their little hearts, they think it’s all right, and don’t 
know no better ; but they’re the wictims o’ gammon, Samivel, 
they’re the wictims o’ gammon.” 

“ I s’pose they are,” said Sam. 

“ Nothin’ else,” said Mr. Weller, shaking his head gravely ; 
“ and wot aggrawates me, Samivel, is to see ’em a wastin’ all 
their time and labor in making clothes for copper-colored peo^ile 
us don’t want ’em, and taking no notice of the flesh-colored 
Chri.stians as do. If I’d my vay, Samivel, I’d just stick some 
o’ these here lazy shepherds behind a heavy wheelbarrow, and 
run ’em up and down a fourteen-inch-wide plank all day. That 
’ud shake the nonsense out of ’em, if any thin’ vould.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


417 


Mr. Weller having delivered his gentle recipe with strong- 
emphasis, eked out by a variety of nods and contortions of the 
eye, emptied his glass at a draught, and knocked the ashes out 
of his pipe, with native dignity 

lie was engaged in this operation, when a shrill voice was 
heard in the passage. 

“ Here’s your dear relations, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller; and 
Mrs. W. hurried into the room. 

“ Oh, you’ve come back, have you ?” said Mrs. Weller. 

“Yes, my dear,” replied Mr. Weller, filling a fresh pipe. 

“ Has Mr. Stiggins been back ?” said Mrs. Weller. 

“No, my dear, he hasn’t,” replied Mr. Weller, lighting the 
pipe by the ingenious process of holding to the bowl thereof, 
between the tongs, a red-hot coal from the adjacent fire ; “ and 
what’s more, my dear, I shall manage to surwive it, if he don’t 
come back at all.” 

“ Ugh, you wretch,” said Mrs. Weller. 

“ Thank’ee, my love,” said Mr. Weller. 

“ Come, come, father,” said Sara, “ uone of these little lovin’s 
afore strangers. Here’s the reverend gen’l’m’n a cornin’ in 
now.” 

At this announcement, Mrs. Weller hastily wiped off the 
tears which she had just begun to force on ; and Mr. W. drew 
his chair sullenly into the chimney-corner. 

Mr. Stiggins was easily prevailed on to take another glass 
of the hot pine-apple rum and water, and a second and a third, 
and then to refresh himself with a slight supper, previous to 
beginning again. He sat on the same side as Mr. Weller, senior, 
and eve ry time he could contrive to do so, unseen by his wife, 
that gentleman indicated to his son the hidden emotions of his 
bosom, by shaking his fist over the deputy shepherd’s head, a 
process which afibrded his son the most unmingled delight and 
satisfaction, the more especially as Mr. Stiggins went on, quietly 
drinking the hot pine-apple rum and water, wholly unconscious 
of what was going forward. 

The major part of the conversation was confined to Mrs. 
Weller and the Rev. Mr. Stiggins; and the topics principally 
descanted on, were the virtues of the shepherd, the worthiness 
of his flock, and the high crimes and misdemeanors of every body 
27 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


418 

beside — dissertations which the elder Mr. Weller occasionally 
interrupted by half-suppressed references to a gentleman of the 
name of Walker, and other running com mental ies of the same 
kind. 

At length, Mr. Stiggins, with several most indubitable symi> 
toms of having quite as much pine-apple rum and water about 
him, as he could comfortably accommodate, took his hat and hia 
leave : and Sam was, immediately afterwards, shown to bed by 
his father. The respectable old gentleman wrung his hand fer- 
vently, and seemed disposed to address some observations to his 
son, but on Mrs. Weller advancing towards him, he appeared to 
relinquish his intention, and abruptly bade him good night. 

Sam was up betimes next day, and having partaken of a liasty 
breakfast, prepared to return to London. He had scar<*ely set 
foot without the house, when his father stood before him. 

“Goin^ Sammy?” inquired Mr. Weller. 

“ Off at once,” replied Sam. 

I vish you could muffle that ’ere Stiggins, and take him with 
you,” said Mr. Weller. 

‘‘ I am ashamed o’ you, old two-for-his-heels,” said Sam, re- 
proachfully ; “ what do you let him show his red nose in the 
Markis o’ Granby at all, for ?’^ 

Mr. Weller the elder fixed on his son an earnest look, and re- 
plied — “ ’Cause I’m a married man, Samivel, ’cause I’m a mar- 
ried man. Yen you’re a married man, Samivel, you’ll under- 
stand a good many things as you don’t understand now ; but 
vether it’s worth while goin’ through so much to learn so little, 
as the charity-boy said ven he got to the end of the alphabet, is 
a matter o’ taste. I rayther think it isn’t.” 

“ Well,” said Sam, “ good-by.” _ 

“ Tar, tar, Sammy,” replied his father. 

I’ve only got to say this here,” said Sam, stopping short, “ that 
if I was the properiator o’ the Markis o’ Granby, and that ’ere 
Stiggins came and made toast in my bar, I’d — ” 

“What?” interposed Mr. Weller, with great anxiety. 

“ What ?” 

“ — Pison his rum and water,” said Sam. 

“ No I” said Mr. Weller, shaking his son eagerly by the hand, 
“would you raly, Sammy — would you, though ?” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


419 


“ I would,” said Sam. “ I wouldn^t be too hard upon him 
at first : I’d just drop him in the water-butt, and put the lid on : 
and then if I found he was insensible to kindness, I’d try the 
other persvasion.” 

The elder Mr. Weller bestowed a look of deep, unspeakable 
admiration on his son, and, having once more grasped his hand, 
walked slowly away, revolving in his mind the numerous reflec- 
tions to which his advice had given rise. 

Sam looked after him till he turned a corner of the road, and 
then set forward on his walk to London. He meditated at first 
on the probable consequences of his own advice, and the likeli- 
hood and unlikelihood of his father’s adopting it. He dismissed 
the subject from his mind, however, with the consolatory reflec- 
tion that time alone would show ; and this is just the reflection 
we would impress upon the reader. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


A GOOD-HUMORED CHRISTMAS CHAP TER, CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT 
OP A WEDDING, AND SOME OTHIJl SPORTS BESIDE, WHICH, AL- 
THOUGH IN THEIR WAY EVEN AS GOOD CUSTOMS AS MARRIAGE 
ITSELF, ARE NOT QUITE SO RELIGIOUSLY KEPT UP IN THESE 
DEGENERATE TIMES. 

As brisk as bees, if not altogether as light as fairies, did the 
four Pickwickians assemble on the morning of the twenty-second 
day of December, in the year of grace in which these, their faith- 
fully-recorded adventures, were undertaken and accomplished. 
Christmas was close at hand in all his bluff and hearty honesty; 
it was the season of hospitality, merriment, and open-hearted- 
ness ; the old year was preparing, like an ancient philosopher, 
to call his friends around him, and amidst the sound of feast- 
ing. and revelry, to pass gently and calmly away. Gay and 
merry was the time ; and right gay and merry were at least four 
of the numerous hearts that were gladdened by its coming. 

And numerous indeed are the hearts to which Christmas 
brings a brief season of happiness and enjoyment. How many 
families whose members have been dispersed and scattered far 
and wide, in the restless struggles of life, are then re-united, 
and meet onee again in that happy state of companionship and 
mutual good-will which is a source of such pure and unalloyed 
delight, and one so incompatible with the cares and sorrows 
of the world, that the religious belief of the most civilized 
nations, and the rude traditions cf the roughest savages, alike 
number it among the first joys of a future state of existence, 
provided for the blest and happy 1 How many old recollec- 
tions, and how many dormant sympathies, does Christmas-time 
awaken 1 

We write these words now, many miles distant from the spot 
at which, year after year, we met on that day a merry and joyous 
circle. Many of the hearts that throbbed so gaily then, have 
(420) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


421 


ceased to beat ; many of the looks that shone so brightly then, 
have ceased to glow ; the hands we grasped, have grown cold ; 
the eyes we sought, have hid their lustre in the grave ; and yet 
the old house, the room, the merry voices and smiling faces, 
the jest, the laugh, the most minute and trivial circumstance 
connected with those happy meetings, crowd upon our mind at 
each recurrence of the season, as if the last assemblage had been 
but yesterday. Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back 
to the delusions of our childish days^ that can recall to the old 
man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the sailor and the 
traveler, thousands of miles away, back to his own fireside and 
his quiet home I 

But we are so taken up, and occupied, with the good qualities 
of Christmas, who, by the way, is quite a country gentleman of 
the old school, that we are keeping Mr. Pickwick and his friends 
waiting in the cold, on the outside of the Muggleton coach, 
which they have just attained, well wrapped up, in great-coats, 
shawls, and comforters. The portmanteaus and carpet-bags 
have been stowed away, and Mr. Weller and the guard are 
endeavoring to insinuate into the fore-boot a huge codfish 
several sizes too large for it, which is snugly packed up, in a 
long brown basket, with a layer of straw over the top, and 
which has been left to the last, in order that he may repose in 
safety on the half-dozen barrels of real native oysters, all the 
property of Mr. Pickwick, which have been arranged in regular 
order, at the bottom of the receptacle. The interest displayed 
in Mr. Pickwick’s countenance is most intense, as Mr. Weller 
and the guard try to squeeze the codfish into the boot, first 
head first, and then tail first, and then top upwards, and then 
bottom upwards, and then sideways, and then long-ways, all 
of which artifices the implacable codfish sturdily resists, until 
the guard accidentally hits him in the very middle of the basket, 
whereupon he suddenly disappears into the boot, and with him, 
the head and shoulders of the guard himself, who, not calcu- 
lating upon so sudden a cessation of the passive resistance of 
the codfish, experiences a very unexpected shock, to the un- 
smotherable delight of all the porters and bystanders. Upon 
this, Mr. Pickwick smiles with great good-humor, and drawing 
a shilling from his waistcoat-pocket, begs the guard, as he picks 


422 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


himself out of the boot, to drink bis health in a gloss of hot 
brandy and water, at which the guard smiles too, and Messrs. 
Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman, all smile in company. The 
guard and Mr. Weller disappear for five minutes, most probably 
to get the hot brandy and water, for they smell very strongly 
of it, when they return ; - the coachman mounts to the box, Mr. 
Weller jumps up behind, the Pickwickians pull their coats round 
their legs, and their shawls over their noses ; the helpers pull 
the horse-cloths off, the coachman shouts out a cheery “All 
right,” and away they go. 

They have rumbled through the streets, and jolted over the 
stones, and at length reached the wide and open country. The 
wheels skim over the hard and frosty ground ; and the horses, 
bursting into a canter at a smart crack of the whip, step along 
the road as if the load behind them, coach, passengers, codfish, 
oyster barrels, and all, were but a feather at their heels. They 
have descended a gentle slope, and enter upon a level, as com- 
pact and dry as a solid block of marble, two miles long. Another 
crack of the whip, and on they speed, at a smart gallop, the 
horses tossing their heads and rattling the harness as if in ex- 
hilaration at the rapidity of the motion, while the coachman, 
holding whip and reins in one hand, takes off his hat with the 
other, and resting it on his knees, pulls out his handkerchief and 
wipes his forehead, partly because he has a habit of doing it, 
and partly because it’s as well to show the passengers how cool 
he is, and what an easy thing it is to drive four-in-hand, when 
you have had as much practice as he has. Having done this 
very leisurely (otherwise the effect would be materially im- 
paired,) he replaces his handkerchief, pulls on his hat, adjusts 
his gloves, squares his elbows, cracks the whip again, and on 
they speed, more merrily than before. 

A few small houses scattered on either side of the road, be- 
token the entrance to some town or village. The lively notes 
of the guard’s key-bugle vibrate in the clear cold air, and wake 
up the old gentleman inside, who, carefully letting down the 
window-sash half-way, and standing sentry over the air, takes a 
short peep out, and then carefully pulling it up again, informs 
the of^er inside that they’re going to change directly ; on which 
the other inside wakes himself up, and determines to postpone 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


42a 


his next nap until after the stoppage. Again the bugle sounds 
lustily forth, and rouses the cottager’s wife and children, who 
peep out at the house-door, and watch the coach till it turns 
the corner, when they once more crouch round the blazing fire, 
and throw on another log of wood against father comes home, 
while father himself, a full mile off, has just exchanged a friendly 
nod with the coachman, and turned round, to take a good long 
stare at the vehicle as it whirls away. 

A nd now the bugle plays a lively air as the coach rattles 
through the ill-paved streets of a country town ; and the coach- 
man undoing the buckle which keeps his ribands together, pre- 
pares to throw them off the moment he stops. Mr. Pickwick 
emerges from his coat-collar, and looks about him with great 
curiosity ; perceiving which, the coachman informs Mr. Pick- 
wick of the name of the town, and tells him it was market-day 
yesterday, both which pieces of information Mr. Pickwick 
retails to his fellow-passengers, whereupon they emerge from 
their coat-collars too, and look about them also. Mr. Winkle, 
who sits at the extreme edge, with one leg dangling in the air, 
is nearly precipitated into the street, as the coach twists round 
the sharp corner by the cheesemonger’s shop, and turns into the 
market-place ; and before Mr. Snodgrass, who sits next to him, 
has recovered from his alarm, they pull up at the inn yard, 
where the fresh horses, with cloths on, are already waiting. 
The coachman throws down the reins and gets down himself, 
and the other outside passengers drop down also, except those 
who have no great confidence in their ability to get up again, 
and they remain where they are, and stamp their feet against 
the coach to warm them ; looking with longing eyes and red 
noses at the bright fire in the inn bar, and the sprigs of holly 
with red berries which ornament the window. 

But the guard hrs delivered at the corn-dealer’s shop the 
brown-paper packet he took out of the little pouch which hangs 
over his shoulder by a leathern strap, and has seen the horses 
carefully put to, and has thrown on the pavement the saddle 
which was brought from London on the coach roof, and has 
assisted in the conference between the coachman and the hostler 
about the grey mare that hurt her off-fore-leg last Tuesday, and 
he and Mr. Weller are all right behind, and the coachman is all 


424 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


right in front, and the old gentleman inside, who has kept the 
window down full two inches all this time, has pulled it up 
again, and the cloths are off, and they are all ready for starting, 
except the “two stout gentlemen,” whom the coachman inquires 
after with some impatience. Hereupon the coachman and tho 
guard, and Sam Weller, and Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass, 
and ail the hostlers, and every one of the idlers, who are more 
in number than all the others put together, shout for the missing 
gentlemen as loud as they can bawl. A distant response is 
heard from the yard, and Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman come 
running down it, quite out of In’-^ath, for they have been having 
a glass of ale apiece, and Mr. Pickwick’s fingers are so cold 
that he has been full five mini tes before he could find the six- 
pence to pay for it. The coachman shouts an admonitory 
“ Now, then, gen’Pm’n,” the guard re-echoes it — the old gentle- 
man inside thinks it a very extraordinary thing that people will 
get down when they know there isn’t time for it — Mr. Pickwick 
struggles up on one side, Mr. Tupman on the other, Mr. Winkle 
cries “ All right,” and oft* they start. Shawls are pulled up, 
coat collars are readjusted, the pavement ceases, the houses dis- 
appear ; and they are once again dashing along the open road, 
with the fresh clear air blowing in their faces, and gladdening 
their very hearts within them. 

Such was the progress of Mr. Pickwick and his friends by 
the Muggleton Telegraph, on their way to Dingley Dell ; and at 
three o’clock that afternoon, they all stood high and dry, safe 
and sound, hale and hearty, uponJihe steps of the Blue Lion, 
having taken on the road quite enough of ale and brandy, to 
enable them to bid defiance to the frost that was binding up the 
earth in its iron fetters, and weaving its beautiful net-work upon 
the trees and hedges. Mr. Pickwick was busily engaged in 
counting the barrels of oysters, and superintending the disinter- 
ment of the codfish, when he felt himself gently pulled by the 
skirts of the coat ; and looking round he discovered that the 
individual who resorted to this mode of catching his attention, 
was no other than Mr. Wardle’s favorite page, better known to 
the readers of this unvarnished history by the distinguishing 
appellation of the fat boy^ 

“ Aha I” said Mr. Pickwick. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


426 


Aha said the fat boy. 

And as he said it, he glanced from the cod-fish to the oyster 
barrels, and chuckled joyously. He was fatter than ever. 

“Well, you look rosy enough, my young friend,” said Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“I’ve been asleep, right in front of the tap-room fire,” replied 
the fat boy, who had heated himself to the color of a new 
chimney-pot, in the course of an hour’s nap. “ Master sent me 
over with the chay-cart, to carry your luggage up to the house. 
He’d ha’ sent some saddle horses, but he thought you’d rather 
walk, being a cold day.” 

“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Pickwick, hastily, for he remembered 
how they had traveled over nearly the same ground on a previous 
occasion. “ Yes, we would rather walk. Here, Sam.” 

“ Sir,” said Mr. Weller. 

“Help Mr. Wardle’s servant to put the packages into the 
cart, and then ride on with him. We will walk forward at 
once.” 

Having given this direction, and settled with the coachman. 
Mr. Pickwick and his three friends struck into the footpath 
across the fields, and walked briskly away, leaving Mr. Weller 
and the fat boy confronted together for the first time. Sam 
looked at the fat boy with great astonishment, but without say- 
ing a word ; and began to stow the things rapidly away in the 
cart, while the fat boy stood quietly by, and seemed to think it 
a very interesting sort of thing to see Mr. Weller working by 
himself. 

“ There,” said Sam, throwing in the last carpet-bag. “ There 
they are.” 

“Yes,” said the fat boy, in a very satisfied tone, “there they 
are.” 

“ Veil, young twenty stun,” said Sam,” “you’re a nice specimen 
of a prize boy, you are.” 

“ Thank’ee,” said the fat boy. 

“ You ain’t got nothin’ on your mind, as makes you fret your- 
self, have you ?” inquired Sam. 

“Not as I knows on,” replied the boy. 

“ I should rayther ha’ thought, to look at you, that you was 


426 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


a laborin’ under an unrequited attachment to some young 
’ooman,” said Sam. 

The fat boy shook his head. 

“Veil,” said Sam, “I’m glad to hear it. Do you ever drink 
any thin’ ?” 

“ I likes eating better,” replied the boy. 

“ Ah,” said Sam, “ I should ha’ s’posed that ; but what I 
mean is, should you like a drop of any thin’ as’d warm you ? but 
I s’ pose you never was cold, with all them elastic fixtures, was 
you ?” 

“ Sometimes,” replied the boy ; “ and I likes a drop of some- 
thing, when it’s good.” 

“ Oh, you do, do you?” said Sam. “ Come this vay, then.” 

The Blue Lion tap was soon gained, and the fat boy swallowed 
a glass of liquor without so much as winking, — a feat which 
considerably advanced him in Mr. Weller’s good opinion. Mr. 
Weller having transacted a similar piece of business on his own 
account, they got into the cart. 

“ Can you drive ?” said the fat boy. 

“I should rayther think so,” replied Sam. 

“ There, then,” said the fat boy, putting the reins in his hand, 
and pointing up a lane, “ it’s as straight as you can go ; you 
can’t miss it.” 

With these words the fat boy laid himself affectionately down 
by the side of the cod-fish, and placing an oyster-barrel under 
his head for a pillow, fell asleep instantaneously. 

“Yell,” said Sam, “of all the cool boys ever I set my eyes 
on, this here young gen’l’m’n is about the coolest. Come, vake 
up, young dropsy.” 

But as young dropsy evinced no symptoms of returning ani- 
mation, Sam Weller sat himself down in front of the cart, and 
starting the old horse with a jerk of the rein, jogged steadily 
on towards Manor Farm. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, having walked 
their blood into active circulation, proceeded cheerfully on ; the 
paths were hard, the grass was crisp and frosty, the air had 
a fine, dry, bracing coldness, and the rapid approach of t he grey 
twilight (slate colored is a better term in frosty weather) made 
them look forward with pleasant anticipation to the comforts 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


427 


which awaited them at their hospitable entertainer’s. It was 
the sort of afternoon that might induce a couple of elderly gen- 
tlemen, in a lonely field, to take off their great-coats and play at 
leap-frog in pure lightness of heart and gayety ; and we firmly 
believe that had Mr. Tupman at that moment proffered a “back,” 
Mr. Pickwick would have accepted his ofler with the utmost 
avidity. 

However, Mr. Tupman did not volunteer any such personal 
accommodation, and the friends walked on, conversing merrily. 
As they turned into a lane which they had to cross, the sound 
of many voices burst upon their ears ; and before they had even 
had time to form a guess as to whom they belonged, they walked 
into the very centre of the party who were expecting their arri- 
val — a fact which was first notified to the Pickwickians, by the 
loud “ Hurrah,” which burst from old Wardle’s lips, when they 
appeared in sight. 

First, there was Wardle himself, looking, if that were possible, 
more jolly than ever ; then there were Bella and her faithful 
Trundle ; and lastly, there were Emily and some eight or ten 
young ladies, who had all come down to the wedding which 
was to take place next day, and were in as happy and important 
a state as young ladies usually are on such momentous occasions ; 
and they were, one and all, startling the fields and lanes far and 
wide with their frolic and laughter. 

The ceremony of introduction, under such circumstances, was 
very soon performed, or we should rather say that the introduc- 
tion was soon over, without any ceremony at all ; and in two 
minutes thereafter, Mr. Pickwick was joking with the young 
ladies who wo-uldn’t come over the stile while he looked, or 
who, having pretty feet and unexceptionable ankles, preferred 
standing on the top-rail for five minutes or so, and declaring 
that they were too frightened to move, with as much ease and 
absence of reserve or constraint, as if he had known them for 
life. It is worthy of remark too, that Mr. Snodgrass offered 
Emily far more assistance than the absolute terrors of the stile 
(although it was full three feet high, and had only a couple of 
stcitping-stones) would seem to require; while one black-eyed 
young lady in a very nice little pair of boots with fur round the 


4£8 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


top, was observed to scream very loudly, when Mr. Winkle 
offered to help her over. 

All this was very snug and pleasant: and when the difficul* 
ties of the stile were at last surmounted, and they once more 
entered on the open field, old Wardle informed Mr. Pickwick 
how they had all been down in a body to inspect the furniture 
and fittings-up of the house, which the young couple were to 
tenant, after the Christmas holidays; at which communication, 
Bella and Trundle both colored up, as red as the fat boy after 
the tap-room fire ; and the young lady with the black eyes and 
the fur round the boots, whispered something in Emily’s ear, 
and glanced archly at Mr. Snodgrass, to which Emily responded 
that she was a foolish girl, but turned very red, notwithstanding; 
and Mr. Snodgrass, who was as modest as all great geniuses 
usually are, felt the crimson rising to the crown of his head, 
and devoutly wished, in the inmost recesses of his own heart, 
that the young lady aforesaid, with her black eyes, and her arch- 
ness, and her boots with the fur round the top, were all com- 
fortably deposited in the adjacent county. 

But if they were social and happy, outside the house, what 
was the warmth and cordiality of their reception when they 
reached the farm ! The very servants grinned with pleasure at 
sight of Mr. Pickwick: and Emma bestowed a half-demure, 
half-impudent, and all pretty look of recognition on Mr. Tup- 
man, which was enough to make the statue of Bonaparte in 
the passage, unfold his arms and clasp her within them. 

The old lady was seated in customary state in the front 
parlor, but she was rather cross, and by consequence, most par- 
ticularly deaf. She never went out herself, and like a great 
many other old ladies of the same stamp, she was apt to con- 
sider it an act of domestic treason, if any body else took the 
liberty of doing what she couldn’t. So, bless her old soul, she 
sat as upright as she could, in her great chair, and looked as 
fierce as might be — and that was benevolent, after all. 

“Mother,” said Wardle, “Mr. Pickwick. You recollect 
him. ” 

“Never mind,” replied the old lady with great dignity. 
“Don’t trouble Mr. Pickwick about an old creetur like me. 
Nobody cares about me now, and it’s very nat’ral they 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


429 


Bhouldn^t ” Here the old lady tossed her head, and smoothed 
down her lavender-colored silk dress, with trembling hands. 

“ Come, come. Ma’am,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ I can’t let yon 
cut an old friend in this way. I have come down expressly to 
have a long talk, and another rubber with you ; and we’ll show 
these boys and girls how to dance a minuet, before they’re eight- 
and-forty hours older.” 

The old lady was rapidly giving way, but she did not like 
to do it all at once; so she only said, “Ah I I can’t hear 
him.” 

“ Nonsense, mother,” said Wardle. “ Come, come, don’t be 
cross, there’s a good soul. Recollect Bella; come, you must 
keep her spirits up, poor girl.” 

The good old lady heard this, for her lip quivered as her son 
said it. But age has its little infirmities of temper, and she 
was not quite brought round yet. So, she smoothed down the 
lavender-colored dress again, and, turning to Mr. Pickwick, 
said, “Ah, Mr. Pickwick, young people was very different when 
I was a girl.” 

“No doubt of that. Ma’am,” said Mr. Pickwick, “and that’s 
the reason why I would make much of the few that have any 
traces of the old stock,” — and saying this, Mr. Pickwick gently 
pulled Bella towards him, and bestowing a kiss upon her fore- 
head, bade her sit down on the little stool at her grandmother’s 
feet. Whether the expression of her countenance, as it was 
raised towards the old lady’s face, called up a thought of old 
times, or whether the old lady was touched by Mr. Pickwick’s 
affectionate good nature, or whatever was the cause, she was 
fairly melted; so she threw herself on her grand-daughter’s 
neck, and all the little ill-humor evaporated in a gush of silent 
tears. 

A happy party they were, that night. Sedate and solemn 
were the score of rubbers in which Mr. Pickwick and the old 
lady played together; and uproarious was the mirth of the 
round table. Long after the ladies had retired, did the hot elder 
wine, well qualified with brandy and spice, go round and round 
and round again ; and sound was the sleep, and pleasant were the 
dreams that followed. It is a remarkable fact, that those of Mr. 
Snodgrass bore constant refereuce to Emily Wardle; and that the 


480 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


principal figure in Mr. Winklers visions was a young lady with 
black eyes, an arch smile, and a pair of remarkably nice boots, 
with fur round the tops. 

Mr. Pickwick was awakened early in the morning, by a hum 
of voices and pattering of feet sufficient to rouse even the fat 
boy from his heavy slumbers. He sat up in bed, and listened. 
The female servants and female visitors were running constantly 
to and fro ; and there were such multitudinous demands for 
warm water, such repeated outcries for needles and thread, and 
so many half-suppressed entreaties of “ Oh, do come and tie me, 
there’s a dear,” that Mr. Pickwick in his innocence began to 
imagine that something dreadful must have occurred, when he 
grew more awake, and remembered the wedding. The occasion 
being an important one, he dressed himself with peculiar care, 
and descended to the breakfast-room. 

There were all the female servants in a bran-new uniform of 
pink muslin gowns, with white bows in their caps, running about 
the house in a state of excitement and agitation, which it would 
be impossible to describe. The old lady was dressed out in a 
brocaded gown, which had not seen the light for twenty years, 
saving and excepting such truant rays as had stolen through 
the chinks in the box in which it had been laid by, during the 
whole time. Mr. Trundle was in high feather and spirits, but 
a little nervous withal. The hearty old landlord was trying to 
look very cheerful and unconcerned, but failed signally in the 
attempt. All the girls were in tears and white muslin, except 
a select two or three, who were being honored with a private 
view of the bride and bridesmaids, up stairs. All the Pickwick- 
ians were in most blooming array; and there was a terrific 
roaring on the grass in front of the house, occasioned by all the 
men, and boys, and hobbledehoys attached to the farm, each of 
whom had got a white bow in his button-hole, and all of whom 
were cheering with might and main: being incited thereto, 
and stimulated therein, by the precept and example of Mr. 
Samuel Weller, who had managed to become mighty popular 
already, and was as much at home as if he had been born on 
the land. 

A wedding is a licensed subject to joke upon, but there really 
18 no great joke in the matter after all ; we speak merely of 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


431 


the ceremony, and beg it to be distinctly understood that we 
indulge in no hidden sarcasm upon a married life. Mixed up 
with the pleasure and joy of the occasion, are the many regrets 
at quitting home, the tears of parting between parent and* child, 
the consciousness of leaving the dearest and kindest friends of 
the happiest portion of human life, to encounter its cares and 
troubles with others still untried and little known — natural feel- 
ings, which we would not render this chapter mournful by 
describing, and which we should be still more unwilling to be 
supposed to ridicule. 

Let us briefly say, then, that the ceremony was performed by 
the old clergyman, in the parish church of Dingley Dell, and 
that Mr. Pickwick’s name is attached to tlie register, still pre- 
served in the vestry thereof ; that the young lady with the black 
eyes signed her name in a very unsteady and tremulous man- 
ner; and that Emily’s signature, as the other bridesmaid, is 
nearly illegible ; that it all went off in very admirable style ; that 
the young ladies, generally, thought it far less shocking than they 
exDected ; and that although the owner of the black eyes, and the 
^rch smile, informed Mr. Winkle that she was sure she could 
never submit to any thing so dreadful, we have the very best 
reasons for thinking she was mistaken. To all this we may add, 
that Mr. Pickwick was the first who saluted the bride; and 
that in so doing, he threw over her neck a rich gold watch and 
chain, which no mortal eyes but the jeweler’s had ever beheld 
before. Then the old church-bell rang as gayly as it could, and 
they all returned to breakfast. 

“ Vere does the mince pies go, young opium-eater ?” said 
Mr. Weller to the fat boy, as he assisted in laying out such 
articles of consumption as had not been duly arranged on the 
previous night. 

The fat boy pointed to the destination of the pies. 

“Wery good,” said Sam, “stick a bit o’ Christmas in ’em. 
T’other dish opposite. There ; now ve look compact and com- 
fortable, as the father said ven he cut his little boy’s head off, 
to cure him o’ squintin’.” 

As Mr. Weller made the comparison, he fell back a step or 
two, to give full effect to it, and surveyed the preparations with 
the utmost satisfaction. 


m 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ Wardle,’’ said Mr. Pickwick, almost as soon as they were 
all seated, “ a glass of wine, in honor of this happy occasion 1’* 

“ I shall be delighted, my boy,” said Wardle. “Joe — damn 
that boy, he’s gone to sleep.” 

“ No, I ain’t, Sir,” replied the fat boy, starting up from a re 
mote corner, where, like the patron saint of fat boys — the ira 
mortal Horner — he had been devouring a Christmas pie, though 
not with the coolness and deliberation which characterized that 
young gentleman’s proceedings. 

“Fill Mr. Pickwick’s glass.” 

“ Yes, Sir I” 

That fat boy filled Mr. Pickwick’s glass, and then retired be- 
hind his master’s chair, from whence he watched the play of the 
knives and forks, and the progress of the choice morsels, from 
the dishes to the mouths of the company, with a kind of dark 
and gloomy joy that was most impressive. 

“ God bless you, old fellow,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Same to you, my boy,” replied Wardle ; and they pledged 
each other heartily. 

“Mrs. Wardle,” said Mr. Pickwick, “we old folks ranst have 
a glass of wine together, in honor of this joyful event.” 

The old lady was in a state of great grandeur just then, for 
she was sitting at the top of the table in the brocaded gown, 
with her newly-married daughter on one side, and Mr. Pickwick 
on the other, to do the carving. Mr. Pickwick had not spoken 
in a very loud tone, but she understood him at once, and drank 
off a full glass of wine to his long life and happiness ; after 
which the worthy old soul launched forth into a minute and par- 
ticular account of her own wedding, with a dissertation on the 
fashion of wearing high-heeled shoes, and some particulars con- 
cerning the life and adventures of the beautiful Lady Tollim- 
glower, deceased, at all of which the old lady herself laughed 
very heartily indeed, and so did the young ladies too, for they 
were wondering among themselves what on earth grandma was 
talking about. When they laughed, the old lady laughed ten 
times more heartily; and said that they always had been con- 
sidered capital stories, which caused them all to laugh again, 
and put the old lady into the very best of humors. Then the 
cake was cut, and passed through the ring; and the young 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


438 


ladies saved pieces to put under their pillows to dream of their 
future husbands on ; and a great deal of blushing and merri- 
ment was thereby occasioned. 

“ Mr. Miller,” said Mr. Pickwick to his old acquaintance, the 
hard-headed gentleman, “ a glass of wine ?” 

“ With great satisfaction, Mr. Pickwick,” replied the hard* 
headed gentleman solemnly. 

“ You’ll take me in ?” said the benevolent old clergyman. 

And me,” interposed his wife. 

“And me, and me,” said a couple of poor relations at the 
bottom of the table, who had eaten and drunk very heartily, anc 
laughed at every thing. 

Mr. Pickwick expressed his heartfelt delight at every addi 
tional suggestion ; and his eyes beamed with hilarity and cheer* 
fulness. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly 
rising — 

“Hear, hear 1 Hear, heart Hear, heart” said Mr. Weller, 
in the excitement of his feelings. 

“Call in all the servants,” cried old Wardle, interposing to pre- 
rent the public rebuke which Mr. Weller would otherwise most 
indubitably have received from his master. 

“ Give them a glass of wine, each, to drink the toast in. Now, 
Pickwick.” 

Amidst the silence of the company, the whispering of the 
womeii-servants, and the awkward embarrassment of the men, 
Mr. Pickwick proceeded. 

“Ladies and gentlemen — no, I won’t say ladies and gentle- 
men, I’ll call you my friends, my dear friends, if the ladies will 
allow me to take so great a liberty” 

Here Mr. Pickwick was interrupted by immense applause 
from the ladies, echoed by the gentlemen, during which the 
owner of the black eyes was distinctly heard to state that she could 
kiss that dear Mr. Pickwick, whereupon Mr. Winkle gallantly 
inquired if it couldn’t be done by deputy, to which the young 
lady with the black eyes replied, “Go away ” — and accompanied 
the request with a look which said as plainly as a look could 
do “if you can.” 

“My dear friends,” resumed Mr. Pickwick, “ I am going to 
28 


434 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


propose the health of the bride and bridegroom — God bless ^eni 
(cheers and tears). My young friend Trundle, I believe to be 
a very excellent and manly fellow ; and his wife I know to be a 
vei7 amiable and lovely girl, well qualified to transfer to another 
sphere of action, the happiness which, for twenty years, she has 
diffused around her, in her father’s house. (Here the fat boy 
burst forth into stentorian blubberings, and was led forth by the 
coat-collar, by Mr. Weller.) I wish,” added Mr. Pickwick, 
“I wish I was young enough to be her sister’s husband, (cheers,) 
but, failing that, I am happy to be old enough to be her father ; 
for, being so, I shall not be suspected of any latent designs 
when I say that I admire, esteem, and love them both, (cheers and 
sobs.) The bride’s father, our good friend there, is a noble 
person, and I am proud to know him (great uproar). He is a 
kind, excellent, independent-spirited, fine-hearted, hospitable, 
liberal man, (enthusiastic shouts from the poor relations, at all 
the adjectives : and especially at the two last.) That his 
daughter may enjoy all the happiness, even he can desire ; and 
that he may derive from the contemplation of her felicity all the 
gratification of heart and peace of mind which he so well de- 
serves, is, I am persuaded, our united wish. So let ns drink 
their healths, and wish them prolonged life, and every blessing.” 

Mr. Pickwick concluded amidst a whirlwind of applause ; ' 
and once more were the lungs of the supernumeraries, under Mr. 
Weller’s command, brought into active and efficient operation. 
Mr. Wardle proposed Mr. Pickwick ; and Mr. Pickwick pro- 
posed the old lady. Mr. Snodgrass proposed Mr. Wardle, and 
Mr. Wardle proposed Mr. Snodgrass. One of the poor rela- 
tions proposed Mr. Tupman, and the other poor relation pro- 
posed Mr. Winkle ; and all was happiness and festivity, until 
the mysterious disappearance of both the poor relations beneath 
the table warned the party that it was time to adjourn. 

At dinner they met again, after a five-and-twenty mile walk, 
undertaken by the males at Wardle’s recommendation, to get 
rid of the effects of the wine a* breakfast ; the poor relations iiad 
lain in bed all day, with the view of attaining the same happy 
consummation, but, as they had been unsuccessful, they stopped 
there. Mr. Weller kept the domestics in a state of perpetual 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


485 


hilarity ; and the fat boy divided his time into small alternate 
allotments of eating and sleeping. 

The dinner was as hearty an affair as the breakfast, and was 
quite as noisy, without the tears. Then came the dessert and 
some more toasts. Then came the tea and coffee; and then, 
the ball. 

The best sitting-room at Manor Farm, was a good, long, 
dark-paneled room with a high chimney-piece, and a capacious 
chimney, up which you could have driven one of the new patent 
cabs, wheels and all. At the upper end of the room, seated in 
a shady bower of holly and evergreens, were the two best 
fiddlers, and the only harp, in all Muggleton. In all sorts of 
recesses, and on all kinds of brackets, stood massive old silver 
candlesticks with four branches each. The carpet was up, the 
candles burnt bright, the fire blazed and crackled on the hearth ; 
and merry voices and light-hearted laughter rang through the 
room. If any of the old English yeomen had turned into 
fairies when they died, it was just the place in which they 
would have held their revels. 

If any thing could have added to the interest of this agree- 
able scene, it would have been the remarkable fact of Mr, Pick- 
wick’s appearing without his gaiters, for the first time within 
the memory of his oldest friends. 

“You mean to dance?” said Wardle. 

‘^Of course I do,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “Don’t you see 
I am dressed for the purpose ?” and Mr. Pickwick called 
attention to his speckled silk stockings, and smartly tied 
pumps. 

“ You in silk stockings I” exclaimed Mr. Tupman, jocosely. 

“ And why not. Sir — why not ?” said Mr. Pickwick, turning 
warmly upon him. 

“ Oh, of course there is no reason why you shouldn’t wear 
them,” responded Mr. Tupman. 

“I imagine not. Sir — I imagine not,” said Mr. Pickwick, in 
a very peremptory tone. 

Mr. Tupman had contemplated a laugh, but he found it was 
a serious matter ; so he looked grave, and said they were a very 
pretty pattern. 

“ I hope they are,” said Mr. Pickwick, fixing his eyes upon 


436 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


his friend. “ You see nothing extraordinary in these stockings, 
as stockings, I trust, Sir 

“ Certainly not — oh, certainly not,” replied Mr. Tupman. 
He walked away ; and Mr. Pickwick’s countenance resumed its 
customary benign expression. 

“We are all ready, I believe,” said Mr. Pickwick, who was 
stationed with the old lady at the top of the dance, and had 
already made four false starts, in his excessive anxiety to com- 
mence. 

“Then begin at once,” said Wardle. “Now.” 

Up struck the two fiddles and the one harp, and off went Mr. 
Pickwick into hands across, when there was a general clapping 
of hands, and a cry of “ Stop, stop.” 

“ What’s the matter ?” said Mr. Pickwick, who was only 
brought to, by the fiddles and harp desisting, and could have 
been stopped by no other earthly power, if the house had been on 
fire. 

“Where’s Arabella Allen?” said a dozen voices. 

“ And Winkle ?” added Mr. Tupman. 

“ Here we are !” exclaimed that gentleman, emerging with 
his pretty companion from the corner; and, as he did so, it 
would have been hard to tell which was the redder in the face, 
he or the young lady with the black eyes. 

“ What an extraordinary thing it is. Winkle,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick, rather pettishly, “ that you couldn’t have taken your place 
before I” 

“Not at all extraordinary,” said Mr. Winkle. 

“Well,” said Mr. Pickwick, with a very expressive smile, as 
his eyes rested on Arabella, “ well, I don’t know that it was 
extraordinary, either, after all.” 

However, there was no time to think more about the matter, 
for the fiddles and harp began in real earnest. Away went Mr. 
Pickwick — hands across, down the middle to the very end of 
the room, and half-way up the chimney, back again to the 
door — poussette everywhere — loud stamp on the ground — ready 
for the next couple — off again — all the figure over once more — 
another stamp to beat out the time — next couple, and the next, 
and the next again — never was such going ; and at last, after 
they had reached the bottom of the dance and full fourteen 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


437 


couple after the old lady had retired in an exhausted state, and 
the clergyman’s wife had been substituted in her stead, did that 
gentleman, when there was no demand whatever on his exer- 
tions, keep perpetually dancing in his place, to keep time to 
the music, smiling on his partner all the while with a blandness 
of demeanor which baffles all description. 

Long before Mr. Pickwick was weary of dancing, the newly- 
married couple had retired from the scene. There was a glo- 
rious supper down stairs, notwithstanding, and a good long sitting 
after it; and when Mr. Pickwick awoke late the next morn- 
ing, he had a confused recollection of having, severally and 
confidentially, invited somewhere about five-and-forty people 
to dine with him at the George and V ultuve, the very first time 
they came to London; which Mr. Pickwick rightly considered 
a pretty certain indication of his having taken something besides 
exercise on the previous night. 

And so your family has games in the kitchen to-night, my 
dear, has they inquired Sam of Emma. 

‘‘Yes, Mr. Weller,” replied Emma; “we always have on 
Christmas eve. Master wouldn’t neglect to keep it up on any 
account. ” 

“ Your master’s a wery pretty notion of keepin’ any thin* 
up, my dear,” said Mr. Weller; “I never see such a sensible 
sort of man as he is, or such a reg’lar gen’l’m’n.” 

“ Oh, that he is 1” said the fat boy, joining in the conversa- 
tion; “don’t he breed nice pork?” and the fat youth gave a 
semi-cannibalic leer at Mr. Weller, as he thought of the roast 
legs and gravy. 

“ Oh, you’ve woke up, at last, have you ?” said Sam. 

The fat boy nodded. 

“ I’ll tell you what it is, young boa constructor,” said Mr. 
Weller, impressively, “ if you don’t sleep a little less and exer. 
cise a little more, ven you comes to be a man, you’ll lay your- 
self open to the same sort o’ personal inconwenience as was 
inflicted on the old gen’l’m’n as wore the pig-tail.” 

“ What did they do to him ?” inquired the fat boy, in a fal- 
tering voice. 

“I’m a goin’ to tell you,” replied Mr. Weller: “ he was one 
o’ the largest patterns as was ever turned out — reg’lar fat 


438 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


man, as hadn’t caught a glimpse of his own shoes for five-and 
forty years.” 

“ Lor’ I” exclaimed Emma. 

“ No, that he hadn’t, my dear,” said Mr. Weller, “and if you’d 
put an exact model of his own legs on the dinin’ table afore 
him, he wouldn’t ha’ known ’em. Well, he always walks to his 
office with a wery handsome gold watch-chain hanging out, 
about a foot and a half, and a gold watch in his fob-pocket as 
was worth — I’m afraid to say how much, but as much as a 
watch can be — a large, heavy, round manafacter, as stout for a 
watch, as he was for a man, and with a big face in proportion. 
* You’d better not carry that ’ere watch,’ says the old gen’l’m’n’s 
friends; ^you’ll be robbed on it,’ says they. ‘ Shall I ?’ says 
he. ‘Yes, will you,’ says they. ‘Yell,’ says he, ‘I should 
like to see the thief as could get this here watch out, for I’m 
blessed if I ever can ; it’s such a tight fit,’ says he, ‘ and ven- 
ever I vants to know what’s o’clock, I am obliged to stare into 
the bakers’ shops,’ he says. Well, then he laughs as hearty 
as if he was goin’ to pieces, and out he walks again, with his 
powdered head and pig-tail, and rolls down the Strand with 
the chain bangin’ out further than ever, and the great round 
watch almost bustin’ through his grey kersey smalls. There 
warn’t a pickpocket in all London as didn’t take a pull at that 
chain, but the chain ’ud never break, and the watch ’ud never 
come out, so they soon got tired o’ dragging such a heavy old gen’- 
I’m’n along the pavement, and he’d go home and laugh till the 
pig-tail wibrated like the penderlum of a Dutch clock. At last, 
one day, the old geu’l’m’n was a rollin’ along, and he sees a pick- 
pocket, as he know’d by sight, a cornin’ up, arm-in-arm vith 
a little boy vith a wery large head. ‘ Here’s a game,’ says the 
old gen’l’m’n to himself; ‘ they’re a-goin’ to have another try, 
but it won’t do.’ So he begins a chucklin’ wery hearty, ven all 
of a sudden, the little boy leaves hold o the pickpocket’s arm, 
and rushes head foremost straight into the old gcn’l’m’n’s stom- 
ach, and for a moment doubled him right up vith the pain. 

‘ Murder I’ says the old gen’l’m’n. ‘ All right. Sir,’ says the 
pickpocket, a whisperin’ in his ear. And ven he come,s straight 
agin, the watch and chain was gone, and what’s worse than that, 
the old gen’l’m’n’s digestion was all wrong ever artervards, to 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


439 


the wery last day of his life ; so just you look about you, young 
feller, and take care you don’t get too fat.” 

As Mr. Weller concluded this moral tale, with which the fat 
boy appeared much affected, they all three wended their way 
to the large kitchen, in which the family were by this time 
assembled, according to annual custom on Christmas eve, ob- 
served by old Wardle’s forefathers from time immemorial. 

From the centre of the ceiling of this kitchen, old Wardle 
had just suspended with his own hands a huge branch of mis- 
tletoe, and this same branch of mistletoe instantaneously gave 
rise to a scene of general and most delightful struggling and 
confusion ; in the midst of which Mr. Pickwick, with a gallan- 
try which would have done honor to a descendant of Lady 
Tollimglower herself, took the old lady by the hand, led her 
beneath the mystic branch, and saluted her in all courtesy and 
decorum. The old lady submitted to this piece of practical 
politeness with all the dignity which befitted so important and 
serious a solemnity, but the younger ladies not being so tho- 
rough 'y imbued with a superstitious veneration of the custom, 
or imagining that the value of a salute is very much enhanced 
if it costs a little trouble to obtain it, screamed and struggled, 
and ran into corners, and threatened and remonstrated, and did 
every thing but leave the room, until some of the less adventur- 
ous gentlemen were on the point of desisting, when they all at 
once found it useless to resist any longer, and submitted to be 
kissed with a good grace. Mr. Winkle kissed the young lady 
with the black eyes, and Mr. Snodgrass kissed Emily ; and Mr 
Weller, not being particular about the form of being under the 
mistletoe, kissed Emma and the other female servants, just as 
he caught them. As to the poor relations, they kissed every 
body, not even excepting the plainer portion of the young-lady 
visitors, who, in their excessive confusion, ran right under the mis- 
tletoe, directly it was hung up, without knowing it I Wardle stood 
with his back to the fire, surveying the whole scene, with the 
utmost satisfaction ; and the fat boy took the opportunity of 
appropriating to his own use, and summarily devouring a par- 
ticularly fine mince-pie, that had been carefully put by, for some- 
body else. 

Now the screaming had subsided, and faces were in a gloW| 


440 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


and curls in a tangle, and Mr. Pickwick, after kissing the old 
lady, as before-mentioned, was standing under the mistletoe, 
looking with a Yery pleased countenance on all that was pass- 
ing aiound him, when the young lady with the black eyes, alter 
a little whispering with the other young ladies, made a sudden 
dart forward, and putting her arm around Mr. Pickwick’s neck, 
saluted him affectionately on the left cheek ; and before JMr. 
Pickwick distinctly knew what was the matter, he was sur- 
rounded by the whole body, and kissed by every one of them. 

It was a pleasant thing to see Mr. Pickwick in the centre of 
the group, now pulled this way,, and then that, and first kissed 
on the chin, and then on the nose, and then on the spectacles, 
and to hear the peals of laughter which were raised on every 
side ; but it was a still more pleasant thing to see Mr. Pickwick 
blinded shortly afterwards with a silk-handkerchief, falling up 
agaiiist the wall, and scrambling into corners, and going through 
all the mysteries of blind-man’s buff, with the utmost relish for 
the game, until at last he caught one of the poor relations ; 
and then had to evade the blind-man himself, which he did with 
a nimbleness and agility that elicited the admiration and ap- 
plause of all beholders. The poor relations caught just the 
people who they thought would like it : and when the game 
flagged, got caught themselves. When they were all tired of 
blind-man’s buff, there was a great game at snap-dragon, and 
when fingers enough were burned with that, and all the raisins 
gone, they sat down by the huge fire of blazing logs to a sub- 
stantial supper, and a mighty bowl of wassail, something smaller 
than an ordinary wash-house copper, in which the hot apples 
were hissing and bubbling with a rich look, and a jolly sound, 
that were perfectly irresistible. 

“ This,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking round him, “ this is, 
indeed, comfort.” 

“Our invariable custom,” replied Mr. Wardle. “Every 
body sits down with us on Christmas eve, as you see them 
now — servants and all ; and here we wait till the clock strikes 
twelve, to usher Christmas in, and while away the time with 
forfeits and old stories. Trundle, my boy, rake up the fire.” 

Up flew the bright sparks in myriads, as the logs were stirred, 
• and the deep red blaze sent forth a rich glow that penetrated 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


441 


into the furthest corner of the room, and cast its cheerful tint 
on every face. 

** Come,” said Wardle, “ a song — a Christmas song. I’ll 
give you one in default of a better.” 

“ Bravo I” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Fill up,” cried Wardle. “It will be two hours good 
before you see the bottom of the bowl through the deep ridi 
color of the wassail ; fill up all round, and now for the song.” 

Thus saying, the merry old gentleman, in a good round 
sturdy voice, commenced, without more ado — 

A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

I CARE not for Spring : on his fickle wing 
Let the blossoms and buds be borne ; * 

He WOOS them amain with his treacherous rain, 

And he scatters them ere the morn. 

An inconstant elf, he knows not himself, 

Or his own changing mind an hour, 

He’ll smile in your face, and with wry grimace, 

He'll wither your youngest flower. 

Let the Summer sun to his bright home run, . 

He shall never be sought by mej 

When he’s dimmed by a cloud I can laugh aloud 

And care not how sulky he be : 

For his darling child is the madness wild 
That sports in fierce fever’s train ; ' 

And when love is too strong, it don’t last long. 

As many have found to their pain. 

A mild harvest night, by the tranquil light 
Of the modest and gentle moon. 

Has a far sweeter sheen for me, I ween. 

Than the broad and unblushing noon. 

But every leaf awakens my grief, 

As it lieth beneath the tree; 

So let Autumn air be never so fair, 

It by no means agrees with me. 

But my song I troll out, for Christmas stout, 

The hearty, the true, and the bold. 

A bumper I drain, and with might and main 
Give three cheers for this Christmas old. 

We’ll usher him in with a merry din 
That shall gladden his joyous heart. 

And we'll keep him up while there’s bite or sup, 

And in fellowship good, we’ll part 


442 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


In his fine honest pride, he scorns to hide 
One jot of his hard-weather scars ; 

They’re no disgrace, for there’s much the same trace 
On the cheeks of our bravest tars. 

Then again I sing till the roof doth ring, 

And it echoes from wall to wall — 

To the stout old wight, fair welcome to-night. 

As the King of the Seasons all ! . 

This song was tumultuously applauded, for friends and de- 
pendents make a capital audience; and the poor relations 
especially were in perfect ecstasies of rapture. Again was the 
fire replenished, and again went the wassail round. 

“ How it snows I” said one of the men in a low tone. 

“Snows, does it?” said Wardle. 

“ Rough, cold night. Sir,” replied the man ; “ and there’s a 
wind got up that drifts it across the fields in a thick white 
cloud.” 

“ What does Jem say ?” inquired the old lady. “ There 
ain’t any thing the matter, is there ?” 

“No, no, mother,” replied Wardle ; “he says there’s a snow- 
drift, and a wind that’s piercing cold. I should know that by 
the way it rumbles in the chimney.” 

“ Ah I” said the old lady, “ there was just such a wind, and 
just such a fall of snow, a good many years back, I recollect — 
just five years before your poor father died. It was a Christ- 
mas eve, too ; and I remember that on that very night he told 
us the story about the goblins that carried away old Gabriel 
Grub.” 

“ The story about what ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Oh, nothing — nothing,” replied Wardle. “ About an old 
sexton that the good people down here suppose to have been 
carried away by goblins.” 

“ Suppose 1” ejaculated the old lady. “Is there any body 
hardy enough to disbelieve it ? Suppose I Haven’t you heard 
ever since you were a child, that he was carried away by the 
goblins, and don’t you know he was ?” 

“ Very well, mother, he was, if you like,” said Wardle, laugh- 
ing. “ He was carried away by goblins, Pickwick ; and there’s 
an end of the matter.” 


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443 


no,’^ said Mr. Pickwick, “not an end of it, I assure 
you ; for I must hear how, and why, and all about it.’^ 

Wardle smiled, as every head was bent forward to hear ; and 
filling out the wassail with no stinted hand, nodded a health to 
Mr. Pickwick, and began as follows — 

Put bless our editorial heart, what a long chapter we have 
been betrayed into I We had quite forgotten all such petty 
restrictions as chapters, we solemnly declare. So here goes to 
give the goblin a fair start in a new one. A clear stage and 
no favor for the gobliiis, ladies and gentlemen, if you please. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


THE STORY OF THE GOBLINS WHO STOLE A SEXTON. 

“In an old abbey town, down in this part of the country, a 
long, long while ago — so long, that the story must be a tme 
one, because our great grandfathers implicitly believed it — there 
officiated as sexton and grave-digger in the church-yard, one 
Gabriel Grub. It by no means follows that because a man is a 
sexton, and constantly surrounded by emblems of mortality, 
therefore he should be a morose and melancholy man ; your 
undertakers are the merriest fellows in the world, and I once 
had the honor of being on intimate terms with a mute, who in 
private life, and off duty, was as comical and jocose a little fellow 
as ever chirped out a devil-may-care song, without a hitch iu 
his memory, or drained off a good stiff glass of grog without 
stopping for breath. But, notwithstanding these precedents to 
the contrary, Gabriel Grub was an ill-conditioned, cross-grained, 
surly fellow — a morose and lonely man, who consorted with 
nobody but himself, and an old wicker bottle which fitted into 
his large, deep waistcoat pocket; and who eyed each merry 
face as it passed him by, with such a deep scowl of malice and 
ill-humor, as it was difficult to meet without feeling something 
the worse for. 

“A little before twilight one Christmas eve, Gabriel shouldered 
his spade, lighted his lantern, and betook himself towards the 
old church-yard, for he had got a grave to finish by next morn- 
ing, and feeling very low, he thought it might raise his spirits, 
perhaps, if he went on wdth his work at once. As he wended his 
way up the ancient street, he saw the cheerful light of the 
blazing fires gleam through the old casements, and heard the 
loud laugh and the cheerful shouts of those who were assembled 
around them; he marked the bustling preparations for next 
day’s good cheer, and smelt the numerous savory odors conse* 
1444 ) 


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445 


quent thereupon, as they steamed up from the kitchen windows 
in clouds. All this was gall and wormwood to the heart of 
Gabriel Grub ; and as groups of children bounded out of the 
houses, tripped across the road, and were met, before they 
could knock at the opposite door, by half a dozen curly-headed 
little rascals, who crowded round them as they flocked up 
stairs to spend the evening in their Christmas games, Gabriel 
smiled grimly, and clutched the handle of his spade with a 
firmer grasp, as he thought of measles, scarlet-fever, thrush, 
hooping-cough, and a good many other sources of consolation 
besides. 

“ In this happy frame of mind, Gabriel strode along, return- 
ing a short, sullen growl to the good-humored greetings of such 
of his neighbors as now and then passed him, until he turned 
into the dark lane which led to the church-yard. Now Gabriel 
had been looking forward to reaching the dark lane, because it 
was, generally speaking, a nice, gloomy, mournful place, into 
which the town^s-people did not much care to go, except in 
broad daylight, and when the sun was shining ; consequently, 
he was not a little indignant to hear a young urchin roaring out 
some jolly song about a merry Christmas, in this very sanctuary, 
which had been called Coffin Lane ever since the daj^s of the old 
abbey, and the time of the shaven-headed monks. As Gabriel 
walked on, and the voice drew nearer, he found it proceeded 
from a small boy, who was hurrying along, to join one of the 
little parties in the old street, and who, partly to keep himself 
company, and partly to prepare himself for the occasion, was 
shouting out the song at the highest pitch of his lungs. So 
Gabriel waited till the boy came up, and then dodged him into 
a corner, and rapped him over the head with his lantern five or 
six times, just to teach him to modulate his voice. And as the 
boy hurried away with his hand to his head, singing quite a 
dilierent sort of tune, Gabriel Grub chuckled very heartily to 
himself, and entered the church-yard, locking the gate behind 
him. 

“ lie took off his coat, set down his lantern, and getting intc 
the unfinished grave, worked at it for an hour or so, with right 
good will. But the earth was hardened with the frost, and it 
was no very easy matter to break it up, and shovel it out; and 


446 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


although there was a moon, it was a very young one, and shed 
little light upon the grave, which was in the shadow of the 
church. At any other time, these obstacles would have made 
Gabriel Grub very moody and miserable, but he was so well 
pleased with having stopped the small boy’s singing, that he took 
little heed of the scanty progress he had made, and looked down 
into the grave when he had finished work for the night, with 
grim satisfaction, murmuring, as he gathered up his things — 

Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one, 

A few feet of cold earth, when life is done; 

A stone at the head, a stone at the feet, 

A rich, jucy meal for the worms to eat; 

Bank grass overhead, and damp clay around. 

Brave lodgings for one, these, in holy ground. 

“ ‘ Ho 1 ho I’ laughed Gabriel Grub, as he sat himself down on 
a flat tombstone, which was a favorite resting-place of his ; and 
drew forth his wicker bottle. ‘A coffin at Christmas— a 
Christmas Box. Ho I hoi ho I’ 

“ ‘ Ho 1 hoi ho I’ repeated a voice which sounded close behind 
him. 

“Gabriel paused in some alarm, in the act of raising the 
wicker bottle to his lips, and looked round. The bottom of the 
oldest grave about him, was not more still and quiet than the 
church-yard, in the pale moonlight. The cold hoar frost 
glistened on the tombstones, and sparkled like rows of gems 
among the stone carvings of the old church. The snow lay 
hard and crisp upon the ground, and spread over the thickly 
strewn mounds of earth, so white and smooth a cover, that it 
seemed as if corpses lay there, hidden only by their winding 
sheets. Not the faintest rustle broke the profound tranquillity 
of the solemn scene. Sound itself appeared to be frozen up, 
all was so cold and still. 

“ ‘ It was the echoes,’ said Gabriel Grub, raising the bottle 
to his lips again, 

“ ‘It was not,’’ said a deep voice. 

“Gabriel started up, and stood rooted lo the spot with 
astonishment and terror ; for his eyes rested on a form which 
made his blood run cold. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


. 4 A7 


“ Seated ou an upright tombstone, close to him, was a strange 
unearthly figure, who Gabriel felt at once was no being of this 
world. His long fantastic legs, which might have reached the 
ground, were cocked up, and crossed after a quaint fantastic 
fashion; his sinewy arms were bare, and his hands rested on his 
knees. On his short round body he wore a close covering, 
ornamented with small slashes; and a short cloak dangled at 
his back; the collar was cut into curious peaks, which served 
the goblin in lieu of ruff or neckerchief ; and his shoes curled 
up at the toes into long points. On his head he wore a broad- 
brimmed sugar-loaf hat, garnished with a single feather. The 
hat was covered with the white frost, and the goblin looked as 
if he had sat on the same tombstone very comfortably for two 
or three hundred years. He was sitting perfectly still ; his 
tongue was put out, as if in derision ; and he was grinning at 
Gabriel Grub with such a grin as only a goblin could call up 

“ ‘It was not the echoes,’ said the goblin. 

“ Gabriel Grub was paralyzed, and could make no reply. 

“‘What do you do here on Christmas eve?’ said the goblin 
sternly 

“ ‘I came to dig a grave. Sir,’ stammered Gabriel Grub. 

“‘What man wanders among graves and church-yards on 
such a night as this ?’ said the goblin. 

“ ‘ Gabriel Grub I Gabriel Grub 1’ screamed a wild chorus of 
voices that seemed to fill the church-yard. Gabriel looked fear- 
fully round — nothing was to be seen. 

“ ‘ What have you got in that bottle V said the goblin. 

‘“Hollands, Sir,’ replied the sexton, trembling more than 
ever ; for he had bought it of the smugglers, and he thought 
that perhaps his questioner might be in the excise department 
of the goblins. 

“ ‘Who drinks Hollands alone, and in a church -yard, on such 
a night as this ?’ said the goblin. 

“ ‘Gabriel Grub I Gabriel Grub I’ exclaimed the wild voices 
again. 

“The goblin leered maliciously at the terrified sexton, and 
then raising his voice, exclaimed — 

“ ‘And who, then, is our fair and lawful prize V 

“To this inquiry the invisible chorus replied, in a strain that 


448 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


sounded like the voices of many choristers singing to the mighty 
swell of the old church organ — a strain that seemed borne to 
the sexton’s ears upon a gentle wind, and to die away as its 
soft breath passed onward — but the burden of the reply was 
still the same, ‘ Gabriel Grub I Gabriel Grub I’ 

“ The goblin grinned a broader grin than before, as he said, 
‘Well, Gabriel, what do you say to this V 

“ The sexton gasped for breath. 

“ ‘ What do you think of this, Gabriel?’ said the goblin, kick- 
ing up his feet in the air on either side the tombstone, and look- 
ing at the turned-up points with as much complacency as if he 
had been contemplating the most fashionable pair of Wellingtons 
in all Bond street. 

‘“It’s — it’& — very curious. Sir,’ replied the sexton, half dead 
with fright, ‘ very curious, and very pretty, but I think I’ll go 
back and finish my work. Sir, if you please.’ 

‘ ‘Work I’ said the goblin, ‘ what work ?’ 

“ ‘The grave. Sir, — making the grave,’ stammered the sexton. 

“ ‘ Oh, the grave, eh ?’ said the goblin ; ‘ who makes graves 
at a time when all other men are merry, and takes a pleasure in 
it?’ 

“Again the mysterious voices replied, ‘Gabriel Grub I Gabriel 
Grub I’ 

“‘I’m afraid my friends want you, Gabriel,’ said the goblin, 
thrusting his tongue further into his cheek than ever — and a 
most astonishing tongue it was — ‘ I’m afraid my friends want 
you, Gabriel,’ said the goblin. 

“‘Under favor. Sir,’ replied the horror-struck sexton, ‘I 
don’t think they can. Sir ; they don’t know me, Sir : I don’t 
think the gentlemen have ever seen me. Sir.’ 

“ ‘Oh yes, they have,’ replied the goblin ; ‘we know the man 
with the sulky face and the grim scowl, that came down the 
*Jtreet to-night, throwing his evil looks at the children, and 
grasping his burying spade the tighter. We know the man 
«.hat struck the boy in the envious malice of his heart, because 
the boy could be merry, and he could not. We know him, we 
know him.’ 

“ Here the goblin gave a loud shrill laugh, that the echoes 
returned twenty-fold and throwing his legs up in the air, stood 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


449 


upon his head, or rather upon the very point of liis sugar-loaf 
hat, on the narrow edge of the tombstone, from whence he 
threw a somerset with extraordinary agility, right to the 
sexton’s feet, at which he planted himself in the attitude in 
which tailors generally sit upon the shop-board. 

“ ‘ I — I am afraid I must leave you, Sir,’ said the sexton, 
making an effort to move. 

“‘Leave us,’ said the goblin, ‘Gabriel Grub going to leave 
us. Ho I ho I ho !’ 

“ As the goblin laughed, the sexton observed for one instant 
a brilliant illumination withi4 the windows of the church, as if 
the whole building were lighted up ; it disappeared, the organ 
pealed forth a lively air, and whole troops of goblins, the very 
counterpart of the first one, poured into the church-yard, and 
began playing at leap-frog wdth the tombstones, never stopping 
for an instant to take breath, but overing the highest among 
them, one after another, wdth the most marvelous dexterity. 
The first goblin was a most astonishing leaper, and none of the 
others could come near him ; even in the extremity of his terror 
the sexton could not help observing, that w^hile his friends were 
content to leap over the common-sized gravestones, the first one 
took the family vaults, iron railings and all, with as much ease 
as if they had been so many street-posts. 

“At last the game reached to a most exciting pitch; the 
organ played quicker and quicker, and the goblins leaped faster 
and faster, coiling themselves up, rolling head over heels upon 
the ground, and bounding over the tombstones like footballs. 
The sexton’s brain whirled round with the rapidity of the mo- 
tion he beheld, and his legs reeled beneath him, as the spirits 
flew before his eyes, when the goblin king suddenly darting 
towards him, laid his hand upon his collar, and sank with him 
tlu’Oiigh the earth. 

“ When Gabriel Grub had had time to fetch his breath, 
which the rapidity of his. descent had for the moment taken 
aw^ay, he found himself in what appeared to be a large cavern, 
surrounded on all sides by crowds of goblins, ugly and grim ; 
in the centre of the room, on an elevated seat, was stationed his 
friend of the church-yard ; and close beside him stood Gabriel 
Grub himself, without the power of motion. 

29 


450 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“‘Cold to-niglit,^ said the king of the goblins, ‘veTycold 
A glass of something warm, here.’ 

“ At this command, half a dozen officious goblins, with a per- 
petual smile upon their faces, whom Gabriel Grub imagined to 
be courtiers, on that account, hastily disappeared, and presently 
returned with a goblet of liquid fire, which they presented to 
the king. 

“‘Ah I’ said the goblin, whose cheeks and throat were unite 
transparent, as he tossed down the flame, ‘ this warms one, in- 
. ' deed : bring a bumper of the same for Mr. Grub.’ 

“ It was in vain for the unfortunate sexton to protest that he 
was not in the habit of taking any thing warm at night ; for one 
of the goblins held him while another poured the blazing liquid 
down his throat, and the whole assembly screeched with laughter 
as he coughed and choked, and wiped away the tears which 
gushed plentifully from his eyes, after swallowing the burning 
draught. 

“‘And now,’ said the king, fantastically poking the taper 
corner of his sugar-loaf hat into the sexton’s eye, and thereby 
occasioning him the most exquisite pain — ‘ And now show the 
man of misery and gloom a few of the pictures from our own 
great store-house.’ 

“ As the goblin said this, a thick cloud, which obscured the 
further end of the cavern, rolled gradually away, and disclosed, 
apparently at a great distance, a small and scantily-furnished, 
but neat and clean apartment. A crowd of little children were 
gathered round a bright fire, clinging to their mother’s gown, 
and gamboling round her chair. The mother occasionally rose, 
and drew aside the window-curtain as if to look for some ex- 
pected object : a frugal meal was ready spread upon the table, 
and an elbow-chair was placed near the fire. A knock was 
heal'd at the door: the mother opened it, and the children 
crowded round her, and clapped their hands for joy, as their 
father entered. He was wet and weary, and shook the snow 
from his garments, as the children crowded round him, and 
seizing his cloak, hat, stick and gloves, with busy zeal, ran with 
them from the room. Then, as he sat down to his meal before 
the fire, the children climbed about his knee, and the mother eat 
by bis side, and all seemed happiness and comfort. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


451 


**Bnt a change carae upon the view, almost imperceptibly. 
The scene was altered to a small bedroom, where the fairest and 
youngest child lay dying; the roses bad fled from his cheek, and 
the light from his eye ; and even as the sexton looked upon him 
with an interest he had never felt or known before, he died. 
His young brothers and sisters crowded round his little bed, and 
seized his tiny hand, so cold and heavy; but they shrunk back 
from its touch, and looked with awe on his infant face ; for calm 
and tranquil as it was, and sleeping in rest and peace as the 
beautiful child seemed to be, they saw that he was dead, and 
they knew that he was an angel looking down upon, and bless- 
ing them, from a bright and happy heaven. 

“ Again the light cloud passed across the picture, and again 
the subject changed. The father and mother were old and 
helpless now, and the number of those about them was diminished 
more than half ; but content and cheerfulness sat on every face, 
and beamed in every eye, as they crowded round the fireside, 
and told and listened to old stories of earlier and bygone days. 
Slowly and peacefully the father sank into the grave, and, soon 
after, the sharer of all his cares and troubles followed him to a 
place of rest and peace. The few, who yet survived them, knelt 
by their tomb, and watered the green turf which covered it with 
their tears ; then rose and turned away, sadly and mournfully, 
but not with bitter cries, or despairing lamentations, for they 
knew that they should one day meet again ; and once more they 
mixed with the busy world, and their content and cheerfulness 
were restored. The cloud settled upon the picture, and con- 
cealed it from the sexton’s view. 

“‘What do you think of thatV said the goblin, turning his 
large face towards Gabriel Grub. 

“ Gabriel murmured out something about its being very pretty, 
and looked somewhat ashamed, as the goblin bent his fiery eyes 
upon him. 

“ ‘ You a miserable man I’ said the goblin, in a tone of exces- 
sive contempt. ‘You I’ He appeared disposed to add more, 
but indignation choked his utterance, so he lifted up one of his 
very pliable legs, and, flourishing it above his head a little, to 
ensure his aim, administered a good sound kick to Gabriel 
Grub; immediately after which, all the goblins in waiting 


452 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


crowded round the wretched sexton, and kicked him without 
mercy, according to the established and invariable custom of 
courtiers upon earth, who kick whom royalty kicks, and hug 
whom royalty hugs. 

“ ‘ Show him some more,’ said the king of the goblins. 

A t these words the cloud was again dispelled, and a rich 
and beautiful landscape was disclosed to view — there is just 
such another to this day, within half a mile of the old abbey 
town. The sun shone from out the clear blue sky, the water 
sparkled beneath his rays, and the trees looked greener, and the 
flowers more gay, beneath his cheering influence. The water 
rippled on, with a pleasant sound, the trees rustled in the light 
wind that murmured among their leaves, the birds sang upo)i 
the boughs, and the lark caroled on high her welcome to the 
morning. Yes, it was morning — the bright, balmy morning 
of summer ; the minutest leaf, the smallest blade of grass, wjts 
instinct with life. The ant erept forth to her daily toil, the 
butterfly fluttered and basked in the warm rays of the sun ; 
myriads of insects spread their transparent wings, and reveled 
iu their brief, but happy existence. Man walked forth, elated 
with the scene; and all was brightness and splendor. 

“ ‘ You a miserable man 1’ said the king of the goblins, in a 
E-ore contemptuous tone than before. And again the king of 
the goblins gave his leg a flourish — again it descended on the 
shoulders of the sexton ; and again the attendant goblins imi- 
tated the example of their chief. 

“ Many a time the cloud went and came, and many a lesson 
it taught to Gabriel Grub, who, although his shoulders smarted 
with pain, from the frequent applications of the goblin’s feet 
thereunto, looked on with an interest which nothing could 
diminish. He saw that men who worked hard, and earned their 
scanty bread with lives of labor, were cheerful and happy ; and 
that to the most ignorant the sweet face of nature was- a never- 
failing source of cheerfulness and joy. He saw those who had 
been delicately nurtured, and tenderly brought up, cheerful under 
privations, and superior to suffering, that would have crushed 
many of a rougher grain, because they bore within their own 
bosoms the materials of happiness, contentment, and peace. 
He saw that women — the tenderest and most fragile of all God’s 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


463 


creatures, were the oftenest superior to sorrow, adversity, and 
distress ; and lie saw that it was because they bore in their own 
hearts an inexhaustible well-spring of affection and devotedness. 
Above all, he saw that men like himself, who snarled at the 
mirth and cheerfulness of others, were the foulest weeds on the 
fair surface of the earth ; and, setting all the good of the world 
against the evil, he came to the conclusion that it was a very 
decent and respectable sort of world, after all. No sooner had 
he formed it, than the cloud which had closed over the last pic- 
ture seemed to settle on his senses, and lull him to repose. One 
by one, the goblins faded from his sight, and as the last one 
disappeared, he sunk to sleep. 

“ The day had broken when Gabriel Grub awoke, and found 
himself l}dng at full length on the flat gravestone in the church- 
yard, with the wicker bottle lying empty by his side, and his 
coat, spade, and lantern, all well whitened by the last night’s 
frost, scattered on the ground. The stone on which he had 
first seen the goblin seated, stood bolt upright before him, and 
the grave at which he had worked, the night before, was not 
far oflT. At first he began to doubt the reality of his adventures, 
but the acute pain in his shoulders when he attempted to rise, 
assured him that the kicking of the goblins was certainly not 
ideal. He was staggered again, by observing no traces of foot- 
steps in the snow on which the goblins had played at leap-frog 
with the gravestones, but he speedily accounted for this circum- 
stance, when he remembered that being spirits, they would leave 
no visible impression behind them. So Gabriel Grub got on his 
feet as well as he could, for the pain in his back ; and brushing 
the frost off his coat, put it on, and turned his face towards the 
town. 

“But he was an altered man, and he could not bear the 
thought of returning to a place where his repentance would be 
scoffed at, and his reformation disbelieved. He hesitated for a 
few moments ; and then turned away to wander where he might, 
and seek his bread elsewhere. 

“ The lantern, the spade, and the wicker bottle, were found 
that day in the church-yard. There were a great many specula- 
tions about the sexton’s fate at first, but it was speedily deter- 
mined that he had been carried away by the goblins j and 


464 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


there were not wanting some very credible witnesses who 
had distinctly seen him whisked through the air on the back 
of a chestnut horse blind of one eye, with the hind quarters 
of a lion, and the tail of a bear. At length all this was 
devoutly believed ; and the new sexton used to exhibit to the 
curious for a trifling emolument, a good-sized piece of the 
church weathercock which had been accidentally kicked off by 
the aforesaid horse in his aerial flight, and picked up by himself 
in the church-yard, a year or two afterwards. 

“ Unfortunately these stories were somewhat disturbed by the 
unlooked-for reappearance of Gabriel Grub himself, some ten 
years afterwards, a ragged, contented, rheumatic old man. 
He told his story to the clergyman, and also to the mayor ; 
and in course of time it began to be received as a matter of 
history, in which form it has continued down to this very day. 
The believers in the weathercock tale, having misplaced their 
confidence once, were not easily prevailed upon to part with 
it again, so they looked as wise as they could, shrugged their 
shoulders, touched their foreheads, and murmured something 
about Gabriel Grub’s having drunk all the Hollands, and then 
fallen asleep on the flat tombstone ; and they affected to 
explain what he supposed he had witnessed in the goblin’s 
cavern, by saying that he had seen the world and grown wiser. 
But this opinion, which was by no means a popular one at any 
time, gradually died off ; and be the matter how it may, as 
Gabriel Grub was afilicted with rheumatism to the end of his 
days, this story has at least one moral, if it teach no better 
one — and that is, that if a man turns sulky and drinks by him- 
self at Christmas time, he may make up his mind to be not a 
bit the better for it, let the spirits be ever so good, or let them 
be even as many degrees beyond proof, as those which Gabriel 
Grub saw, in the goblin’s cavern.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


HOW THE PICKWICKIANS MADE AND CULTIVATED THE AC- 
QUAINTANCE OF A COUPLE OF NICE YOUNG MEN BELONGING 

TO ONE OF THE LIBERAL PROFESSIONS ; HOW THEY DISPORTED 

THEMSELVES ON THE ICE ; AND HOW THEIR VISIT CAME TO A 

CONCLUSION. 

“Well, Sara,” said Mr. Pickwick, as that favored servitor 
entered his bed-chamber with his warm water, on the morning 
of Christmas day, “ Still frosty ?” 

“ Water in the wash-hand basin^s a mask of ice. Sir,” re- 
spohded Sam. 

“Severe weather, Sam,” observed Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Fine time for them as is well wropped up, as the Polar 
Bear »aid to himself, ven he was practising his skating,” replied 
Mr. Weller. 

“ I shall bf down in a quarter of an hour, Sam,” said Mr. 
Pickwick, un^nng his night-cap. 

“ Wery geo l. Sir,” replied Sam. — “ There’s a couple o’ Saw- 
bones down stairs.” 

“ A couple of what ?” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sitting up 
in bed. 

“ A couple o’ Sawbones,” said Sam. 

“ What’s a Sawbones ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, not quite 
certain whether it was a live animal, or something to eat. 

“ What I don’t you know what a Sawbones is, Sir V inquired 
Mr. Weller ; “ I thought everybody know’a as a Sawbones was 
a Surgeon.” 

“ Oh, a Surgeon, eh ?” said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile. 

“Just that. Sir,” replied Sam. “These here ones as is 
below, though, ain’t reg’lar thoroughbred Sawbones j they’re 
only a trainin’.” 

“ In other words the’re medical students, I suppose ?” said 
Mr, Pickwick. 


( 455 ) 


466 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Sam Weller nodded assent. 

“I am glad of it,” said Mr. Pickwick, casting his night-cap 
energetically on the counterpane. “ They are fine fellows ; 
very fine fellows, with judgments matured by observation and 
reflection ; and tastes refined by reading and study. I am very 
glad of it.” 

“ They’re a smokin’ cigars by the kitchen fire,” said Sam. 

“ Ah ! ” observed Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his hands, “ over 
flowing with kindly feelings and animal spirits. Just what I 
like to see ! ” 

“And one on ’em,” said Sam, not noticing his master’s inter- 
ruptions, “ one on ’em ’s got his legs on the table, and is a 
drinkin’ brandy neat, vile the t’other one — him in the barnacles 
— has got a barrel o’ oysters atw^een his knees, vich he’s a 
openin’ like steam, and as fast as he eats ’em, he takes aim vith 
the shells at young dropsy, w^ho’s a sittin’ down fast asleep, in 
the chimbley-corner.” 

“Eccentricities of genius, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. “You 
may retire.” 

Sam did retire accordingly ; and Mr. Pickwick, at the expi 
ration of the quarter of an hour, w^ent down to breakfast. 

“ Here he is at last,” said old Wardle. “ Pickwick, this is 
Miss Allen’s brother, Mr. Benjamin Allen — Ben, we call him, 
and so may you if you like. This gentleman is his very par- 
ticular friend, Mr. .” 

“ Mr. Bob Sawyer,” interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen, where- 
upon Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen laughed in 
concert. 

Mr. Pickwdck bowed to Bob Sawyer, and Bob Sawyer 
bowed to Mr. Pickwdck ; Bob and his very particular friend 
then applied themselves most assiduously to the eatables before 
them r and Mr. Pickwdck had an opportunity of glancing at 
them both. 

Mr. Benjamin Allen was a coarse, stout, thick-set young 
man, wdth black hair cut rather short, and a white face cut 
rather long. He was embellished with spectacles, and wore a 
W’hite neckerchief. Below his single-breasted black surtout, 
which was buttoned up to his chin, appeared the usual number 
of pepper-and-salt-coloured legs, terminating in a pair of im- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


467 


perfectly polished boots. Although his coat was short in the 
sleeves, it disclosed no vestige of a linen wristband; and 
although there was quite enough of his face to admit of the 
encroachment of a shirt-collar, it was not graced by the 
smallest approach to that appendage. He presented alto- 
gether rather a mildewy appearance, and emitted a fragrant 
odor of full-flavored Cubas. 

Mr Bob Sawyer, who was habited in a coarse blue coat, 
which, without being either a great-coat or a surtout, partook 
of the nature and qualities of both, had about him that sort of 
slovenly smartness, and swaggering gait, which is peculiar to 
young gentlemen who smoke in the streets by day, shout and 
scream in the same by night, call waiters by their Christian 
names, and do various other acts and deeds of an equally face- 
tious description. He wore a pair of plaid trousers, and a 
large rough double-breasted waistcoat; and out of doors 
carried a thick stick with a big top. He eschewed gloves, 
and looked, upon the whole, something like a dissipated 
Robinson Crusoe. 

Such were the two worthies to whom Mr. Pickwick was 
introduced, as he took his seat at the breakfast-table on 
Christmas morning. 

“ Splendid morning, gentlemen,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

Mr. Bob Sawyer slightly nodded his assent to the proposi- 
tion, and asked Mr. Benjamin Allen for the mustard. 

“ Have you come far this morning, gentlemen ?” inquired 
Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Blue Lion at Muggleton,” briefly responded Mr. Allen. 

*‘You should have joined us last night,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ So we should,” replied Bob Sawyer, “but the brandy was 
too good to leave in a hurry : wasn’t it, Ben ?” 

“Certainly,” said Mr. Benjamin Allen: “and the cigars 
were not bad, or the pork chops either : were they. Bob ?” 

“Decidedly not,” said Bob. And the particular friends 
resumed their attack upon the breakfast more freely than 
before, as if the recollection of last night’s supper had imparled 
a new relish to the meal. 

“Peg away, Bob,” said Mr. Allen to his companion, en- 
couragingly. 


458 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ So I do,” replied Bob Sawyer. And so, to do him justice^ 
he did, 

“Nothing like dissecting, to give one an appetite,” said Mr. 
Bob Sawyer, looking round the table. 

Mr. Pickwick slightly shuddered. 

“By-the-by, Bob,” said Mr. Allen, “have you finished that 
eg yet ?” 

“ Nearly,” replied Sawyer, helping himself to half a fowl 
as he spoke. “ It’s a very muscular one for a child’s.” 

“ Is it ?” inquired Mr. Allen, carelessly. 

“Very,” said Bob Sawyer, with his mouth full. 

“ I’ve put my name down for an arm, at our place,” said 
Mr. Allen. “We’re clubbing for a subject, and the list is 
nearly full, only we can’t get hold of any fellow that wants a 
head. I wish you’d take it.” 

“No,” replied Bob Sawyer; “can’t afford expensive lux- 
uries.” 

“Nonsense!” said Allen. 

“Can’t, indeed,” rejoined Bob Sawyer. “ I wouldn’t mind 
a brain, but I couldn’t stand a whole head.” 

“Hush, hush, gentlemen, pray,” said Mr. Pickwick. “I 
hear the ladies.” 

As Mr. Pickwick spoke, the ladies, gallantly escorted by 
Messrs. Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman, returned from an 
early walk. 

“ Lor, Ben !” said Arabella, in a tone which expressed more 
surprise than pleasure at the sight of her brother. 

“ Come to take you home to-morrow,” replied Benjamin. 

Mr. Winkle turned pale. 

“ Don’t you see Bob Sawyer, Arabella ?” inquired Mr. Ben- 
jamin Allen, somewhat reproachfully. Arabella gracefully 
held out her hand, in acknowledgment of Bob Sawyer’s pre- 
sence. A thrill of hatred struck to Mr. Winkle’s heart, as 
Bob Sawyer inflicted on the proffered hand a perceptible 
squeeze. 

“Ben, dear!” said Arabella, blushing; “have — have — you 
been introduced to Mr. Winkle ?” 

“ I have not been, but I shall be very happy to be, Arabella,” 


THE PICKVVICK PAPERS. 


459 


replied her brother, gravely. Here Mr. Allen bowed grimly 
to Mr. Winkle, while Mr. Winkle and Mr. Bob Sawyer 
glanced mutual distrust out of the corners of their eyes. 

The arrival of the two new visiters, and the consequent 
check upon Mr. Winkle and the young lady with the fur round 
her boots, would in all probability ' have proved a very un- 
pleasant interruption to the hilarity of the party, had not tlie 
cheerfulness of Mr. Pickwick, and the good-humour of the 
host, been exerted to the very utmost for the common weal. 
Mr. Winkle gradually insinuated himself into the good gracen 
of Mr. Benjamin Allen, and even joined in a friendly conversa- 
tion with Mr. Bob Sawyer ; who, enlivened with the brandy, 
and the breakfast, and the talking, gradually ripened into a 
state of extreme facetiousness, and related with much glee an 
agreeable anecdote, about the removal of a tumour on some 
gentleman’s head, which he illustrated by means of an oyster- 
knife and a half-quartern loaf, to the great edification of the 
assembled company. Then the whole train went to church, 
where Mr. Benjamin Allen fell fast asleep ; while Mr. Bob 
Sawyer abstracted his thoughts from worldly matters, by the 
ingenious process of carving his name on the seat of the pew, 
in corpulent letters of about four inches long. 

“Now,” said Wardle, after a substantial lunch, with the 
agreeable items of strong-beer and cherry-brandy, had been 
done ample justice to ; “ what say you to an hour on the ice ? 
We shall have plenty of time.” 

“ Capital ! ” said Mr. Benjamin Allen. 

“ Prime ! ” ejaculated Mr. Bob Sawyer. 

“ You skate, of course. Winkle ? ” said Wardle. 

“Ye — yes; oh, yes;” replied Mr. Winkle. “I — I — am 
rather out of practice.” 

“ Oh. do skate, Mr. Winkle,” said Arabella. “ I like to see 
it so much.” 

“ Oh, it is so graceful,” said another young lady. 

A third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth ex 
pressed her opinion that it was “swan-like.” 

“I should be very happy, I’m sure,” said Mr. Winkle, 
reddening ; “ but I have no skates.” 

This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had got a 


460 THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

couple of pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half- 
a dozen more, down stairs, whereat, Mr. Winkle expressed 
exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable. 

Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice ; and 
(he fat boy and Mr. Weller, having shoveked and swept away 
the snow which had fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob 
Sawyer adjusted his skates with a dexterity which to Mr. Winkle 
was perfectly marvelous, and described circles with his left leg, 
and cut figures of eight ; and inscribed upon the ice, without 
once stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant and 
astonishing devices, to the excessive satisfaction of Mr. Pick- 
wick, Mr. Tupman and the ladies ; which reached a pitch of 
positive enthusiasm, when old Wardle and Benjamin Allen, 
assisted by the aforesaid Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic 
evolutions, which they called a reel. 

All this time, Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with 
the cold, had been forcing a gimlet into the soles of his feet, 
and putting his skates on, with the points behind, and getting 
the straps into a very complicated and entangled state, with 
the assistance of Mr. Snodgrass, who knew rather less about 
skates than a Hindoo. At length, however, with the assistance 
of Mr. Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly screwed and 
buckled on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet. 

“Now, then. Sir,” said Sam, in an encouraging tone; “off 
vith you, and show ’em how to do it.” 

“Stop, Sam, stop,” said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, 
and clutching hold of Sam’s arms with the grasp of a drowning 
man. “ How slippery it is, Sam I ” 

“ Not an uncommon thing upon ice, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 
“ Hold up. Sir.” 

This last observation of Mr. Weller’s, bore reference to a 
demonstration Mr. Winkle made at that instant, of a frantic 
desire to threw his feet in the air, and dash the back of hia 
head on the ice. 

“ These — these — are very awkward skates ; ain’t they, Sam ? ” 
inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering. 

“ I’m afeerd " ^’s an orkard gen’lm’n in ’em. Sir,” replied 

Sam. 

“ Now cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


461 


there was any thing the naatter. “ Come, the ladies are all 
anxiety.^’ 

“ Yes, yes,” replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. ** I^m 
coining.” 

“Just a goin’ to begin,” said Sam, endeavoring to disen- 
gage himself. “Now, Sir, start off.” 

“ Stop an instant, Sam,” gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most 
affectionately to Mr. Weller. “ I find IVe got a couple of 
coats at home, that I don’t want, Sam. You may have them, 
Sam.” 

“ Thankee, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“Never mind touching you hat, Sam,” said Mr. Winkle, 
hastily. “ Y^ou needn’t take your hand away to do that. I 
meant to have given you five shillings this morning for a 
Chi’istraas-box, Sam, I’ll give it you this afternoon, Sam.” 

“ You’re wery good, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“Just hold me at first, Saiu ; will you ? ” said Mr. Winkle. 
“ There — that’s right. I shall soon get in the way of it, Sam. 
Not too fast, Sam ; not too fast.” 

Mr. Winkle stooping forward with his body half doubled 
up, was being assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a very 
singular and un-swan like manner, when Mr. Pickwick most 
innocently shouted from the opposite bank — 

“ Sam I” 

“ Sir ?” said Mr. Weller. 

“ Here. I want you.” 

“ Let go, sir,” said Sam. “ Don’t you hear the governor a 
callin’? Let go, sir.” 

With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from 
the grasp of the agonized Pickwickian ; and, in so doing, 
administered a considerable impetus to the unhappy Mr. Win- 
kle. With an accuracy which no degree of dexterity or prac- 
tice could have ensured, that unfortunate gentleman bore 
swiftly down into the centre of the reel, at the very moment 
when Mr. Bob Sawyer was performing a flourish of unpara- 
lleled beauty. Mr. Winkle struck wildly against him, and with 
a loud crash they fell heavily down. Mr. Pickwick ran to the 
spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to his feet, but Mr. Winkle was 
far too wise to do any thing of the kind in skates. He was 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to smile; but 
anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance. 

“Are you hurt?” inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great 
anxiety. 

“Not much,” said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard 

“ I wish you’d let me bleed you,” said Mr. Benjamin, with 
great eagerness. 

“ No, thank you,” replied Mr. Winkle, hurriedly. 

“ I really think you had better,” said Allen. 

“ Thank you,” replied Mr. Winkle ; “ I’d rather not.” 

“ What do you think, Mr. Pickwick ?” inquired Bob Sawyer. 

Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned to 
Mr. Weller, and said in a stern voice, “Take his skates off.” 

“No; but really I had scarcely begun,” remonstrated Mr 
Winkle. 

“ Take his skates off,” repeated Mr. Pickwick, firmly. 

The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed 
Sam to obey it in silence. 

“ Lift him up,” said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to 
rise. 

Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the by-standers ; 
and, beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look 
upon him, and uttered in a low but distinct and emphatic tone, 
these remarkable words : 

“You’re a humbug. Sir.” 

“A what?” said Mr. Winkle, starting. 

“ A humbug, sir. I will speak plainer, if you wish it. An 
impostor, sir.” 

With these words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel, 
and rejoined his friends. 

While Mr. Pickwick was delivering himself of the sentiment 
just recorded, Mr. Weller and the fat boy, having by their joint 
endeavors cut out a slide, were exercising themselves there- 
upon, in a very masterly and brilliant manner. Sam Weller, 
ill particular, was displaying that beautiful feat of fancy-sliding, 
which is currently denominated “knocking at the cobler’s 
door,” and which is achieved by skimming over the ice on one 
foot, and occasionally giving a two-penny postman’s knock* 
upon it with the other. It was a good long slide, and there 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


m 


was something in the motion which Mr. Pickwick, who was 
very cold with standing still, could not help envying. 

“ It looks a nice warm exercise, that, doesn’t it ?” he inquired 
of Wardle, when that gentleman was thoroughly out of breath, 
by reason of the indefatigable manner in which he had con- 
verted his legs into a pair of compasses, and drawn complicated 
problems on the ice. 

“Ah, it does, indeed,” replied Wardle. “ Do you slide ?” 

“ I used to do so, on the gutters, when I was a boy,” replied 
Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Try it now,” said Wardle. 

“Oh, do, please, Mr. Pickwick,” cried all the ladies. 

“I should be very happy to afford you any amusement,” 
replied Mr. Pickwick, “ but I haven’t done such a thing these 
thirty years.” 

“Pooh! pooh! nonsense!” said Wardle, dragging off his 
skates with the impetuosity which characterized all his pro- 
ceedings. “Here; I’ll keep you company; come along.” 
And away went the good-tempered old fellow down the slide, 
with a rapidity which came very close upon Mr. Weller, and 
beat the fat boy all to nothing. 

Mr. Pickwick paused, considered, pulled off his gloves, and 
put them in his hat, took two or three short runs, balked him- 
self as often, and at last took another run, and went slowly and 
gravely down the slide, with his feet about a yard and a quarter 
apart, amidst the gratified shouts of all the spectators. 

“Keep the pot a bilin’. Sir,” said Sam; and down went 
Wardle again, and then Mr. Pickwick, and then Sam, and 
then Mr. Winkle, and then Mr. Bob Sawyer, and then the fat 
boy, and then Mr. Snodgrass, following closely upon each 
other’s heels, and running after each other with as much eager- 
ness as if all their future prospects in life depended on their 
expedition. 

It was the most intensely interesting thing to observe the 
manner in which Mr. Pickwick performed his share in the 
ceremony : to watch the torture of anxiety with wliich he 
viewed the person behind, gaining upon him at the imminent 
hazard of tripping him up : to see him gradually expand the 
painful force which he had put on at first, and turn slowly 
30 


464 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


round on the slide, with his face towards the point from which 
he had started ; to contemplate the playful smile which mantled 
on his face when he had accomplished the distance, and the 
eagerness with which he turned round when he had done so, 
and ran after his predecessor, his black gaiters tripping plea- 
santly through the snow, and his eyes beaming cheerfulness 
and gladness through his spectacles. And when he was knocked 
down, (which happened upon the average every third round,) 
it was the most invigorating sight that could possibly be 
imagined, to behold him gather up his hat, gloves, and hand- 
kerchief, with a glowing countenance, and resume his station 
in the rank, with an ardor and enthusiasm which nothing 
eould abate. 

The sport was at its height, the sliding was at the quickest, 
the laughter was at the loudest, when a sharp smart crack was 
heard. There was a quick rush towards the bank, a wild 
scream from the ladies, and a shout from Mr Tupman. A 
large mass of ice disappeared, the water bubbled up over it, 
and Mr. Pickwick’s hat, gloves, and handkerchief were float- 
ing on the surface ; and this was all of Mr. Pickwick that any- 
body could see. 

Dismay and anguish were depicted on every countenance ; 
the males turned pale, and the females fainted ; Mr. Snodgrass 
and Mr. Winkle grasped each other by the hand, and gazed at 
the spot where their leader had gone down, with frenzied eager- 
ness ; while Mr. Tupman by w^ay of rendering the promptest 
assistance, and at the same time conveying to any person who 
might be within hearing, the clearest possible notion of the 
catastrophe, ran ofif across the country at his utmost speed, 
screaming “ Fire I” with all his might and main. 

It was at this very moment, when old Wardle and Sara 
Weller were approaching the hole with cautious steps, and 
Mr. Benjamin Allen was holding a hurried consultation with 
Mr. Bob Sawyer, on the advisability of bleeding the coinj»any 
generally, as an improving little bit of professional practice— 
it v;as at this very moment that a face, head, and shoulders 
emerged from beneath the water, and disclosed the features 
and spectacles of Mr. Pickwick. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


465 


“Keep yourself up for an instant — for only one instant,” 
bawled Mr. Snodgrass. 

“Yes, do; let me implore you — for my sake,” roared Mr. 
Winkle, deeply affected. The adjuration was unnecessary ; 
the probability being, that if Mr. Pickwick had declined to 
keep himself up for any body else’s sake, it would have occurred 
to him that he might as well do so for his own. 

“Do you feel the bottom there, old fellow?” said Wardle. 

“ Yes, certainly,” replied Mr. Pickwick, wringing the water 
from his head and face, and gasping for breath. “ I fell upon 
my back. I couldn’t get on my feet at first.” 

The clay upon so much of Mr. Pickwick’s coat as was yet 
visible, bore testimony to the accuracy of this statement; and 
as the fears of the spectators were still farther relieved by the 
fat boy’s suddenly recollecting that the water was nowhere 
more than five feet deep, prodigies of valour were performed 
to get him out. After a vast quantity of splashing, and crack- 
ing, and struggling, Mr. Pickwick was at length fairly extri- 
cated from his unpleasant situation, and once more stood on 
dry land. 

“Oh, he’ll catch his death of cold,” said Emily. 

“Dear old thing!” said Arabella. “Let me wrap this shawl 
round you, Mr. Pickwick.” 

“ Ah, that’s the best thing you can do,” said Wardle ; “and 
when you’ve got it on, run home as fast as your legs can carry 
you, and jump into bed directly.” 

A dozen shawls were offered on the instant ; and three or 
four of the thickest having been selected, Mr. Pickwick was 
wrapped up, and started off, under the guidance of Mr. Weller ; 
presenting the singular phenomenon of an elderly gentleman 
dripping wet, and without a hat, with his arms bound down to 
his sides, skimming over the ground without any clearly defined 
purpose, at the rate of six good English miles an hour. 

But Mr. Pickwick cared not for appearances in such an 
extreme case, and urged on by Sam Weller, he kept at the very 
top of his speed until he reached the door of Manor Farm, 
■where Mr. Tupman had arrived some five minutes before, and 
had frightened the old lady into palpitations of the heart* by 
impressing her with the unalterable conviction that the kitchen 


<66 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


chimney was on fire — a calamity which always presented itself 
in the most glowing colours to the old lady’s mind, when any 
body about her evinced the smallest agitation. 

Mr. Pickwick paused not an instant until he was snug in 
bed. Sam Weller lighted a blazing fire in the room, and took 
up his dinner; a bowl of punch was carried up afterwards, and 
a grand carouse held in honor of his safety. Old Wardle 
would not hear of his rising, so they made the bed the chair, 
and Mr. Pickwick presided. A second and a third bowl were 
ordered in ; and when Mr Pickwick awoke the next morning, 
there was not a symptom of rheumatism about him, which 
proves as Mr. Bob Sawyer very justly observed, that there is 
nothing like hot punch in such cases, and that if ever hot 
punch did fail to act as a preventive, it was merely because the 
patient fell into the vulgar error of not taking enough of it. 

The jovial party broke up next morning. Breakings up are 
capital things in our school days, but in after life they are 
painful enough. Death, self-interest, and fortune’s changes, 
are every day breaking up many a happy group and scattering 
them far and wide ; and the boys and girls never come back 
again. We do not mean to say that it was exactly the case 
in this particular instance ; all we wish to inform the reader is, 
that the different members of the party dispersed to their 
several homes; that Mr. Pickwick and his friends once more 
took their seats on the top of the Muggleton coach ; and that 
Arabella Allen repaired to her place of destination, wherever 
it might have been — we dare say Mr. Winkle knew, but we 
confess we don’t — under the care and guardianship of her 
brother Benjamin, and his most intimate and particular friend, 
Mr. Bob Sawyer. 

Before they separated, however, that gentleman and Mr. 
Benjamin Allen drew Mr. Pickwdek aside with an air of some 
mystery ; and Mr. Bob Sawyer, thrusting his forefinger between 
two of Mr. Pickwick’s ribs, and thereby displaying his native 
drollery, and his knowledge of the anatomy of the human 
frame, at one and the same time, inquired — 

“ I say, old boy, where do you hang out?” 

Mr. Pickwick replied that he was at present suspended at 
the George and Vulture. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


467 


“ I wish you’d come and see me,” said Bob Sawyer. 

“ Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” replied Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“ There’s ray lodgings," said Mr. Bob Sawyer, producing a 
card, “ Laiit Street Borough ; it’s near Gcuy’s, and handy for 
me, you know. Little distance after you’ve passed Saint 
George’s Church — turns out of the High Street on the right- 
hand side the way.” 

“I shall find it,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Come on Thursday fort-night, and bring the other chaps with 
you,” said Mr. Bob Sawyer, “I’m going to have a few medical 
fellows that night.” 

Mr. Pickwick expressed the pleasure it would afford him to 
meet the medical fellows; and after Mr. Bob Sawyer had 
informed him that he meant to be very cosey, and that his 
friend Ben was to be one of the party, they shook hands and 
separated. 

We feel that in this place we lay ourself open to the inquiry 
whether Mr. Winkle was whispering, during this brief conver- 
sation, to Arabella Allen, and if so, what he said ; and further- 
more, whether Mr. Snodgrass was conversing apart with Emily 
Wardle, and if so, what he said. To this, we reply, that what- 
ever they might have said to the ladies, they said nothing at all 
to Mr. Pickwick or Mr. Tnpman for eight-and-twenty miles, 
and that they sighed very often, refused ale and brandy, and 
looked gloomy. If our observant lady readers can deduce any 
satisfactory inferences from these facts, we beg them by all 
means to do so. 


CHAPTER XXXIL 


WinCH IS ALL ABOUT THE LAW, AND SUNDRY GREAT 
AUTHORITIES LEARNED THEREIN. 

Scattered about, in various holes and corners of the Temple, 
are certain dark and dirty chambers, in and out of which, all 
the morning in Vacation, and half the evening too in Term 
time, there may be seen constantly hurrying with bundles of 
papers under their arms, and protruding from their pockets, 
an almost uninterrupted succession of Lawyers’ Clerks. There 
are several grades of Lawyers’ Clerks. There is the Articled 
Clerk, who has paid a premium, and lo an attorney in perspec- 
tive, who runs a tailor’s bill, receives invitations to parties, 
knows a family in Gower Street and another in Tavistock 
Square, goes out of town every Long Vacation to see his 
father, who keeps live horses innumerable; and who is, in 
short, the very aristocrat of clerks. There is the salaried clerk 
— out of door, or in door, as the case may be — who devotes 
the major part of his thirty shillings a w^eek to his personal 
pleasure and adornment, repairs half-price to the Adelphia at 
least three times a week, dissipates majestically at the cider 
cellars afterwards, and is a dirty caricature of the fashion which 
expired six months ago. There is the middle-aged copying 
clerk, with a large family, who is always shabby, and often 
drunk. And there are the office lads in their first-«urtouts, 
who feel a befitting contempt for boys at day-schools, club as 
they go home at night for saveloys and porter, and think there’s 
nothing like “life.” There are varieties of the genus too 
numerous to recapitulate, but however numerous they may be, 
they are all to be seen, at certain regulated business’ hours, 
hurrying to and from the places we have just mentioned. 

These sequestered nooks are the public offices of the legal 
profession, where writs are issued, judgments signed, decla- 
rations filed, and numerous other ingenious little machines put 
( 468 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


469 


in motion for the torture and torment of his majesty’s liegB 
subjects, and the comfort and emolument of the practitioners of 
the law. They are, for the most part, low-roofed, mouldy rooms, 
where innumerable rolls of parchment which have been perspi- 
ring in secret for the last century, send forth an agreeable odor, 
which is mingled by day with the scent of the dry rot, and by 
night with the various exhalations which arise from dampclojiks, 
festering umbrellas, and the coarsest tallow candles. 

About half-past seven o’clock in the evening, some ten days 
or a fortnight after Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned to 
London, there hurried into one of these offices, an individual 
in a brown coat and brass buttons, whose long hair was scru- 
pulously twisted round the rim of his napless hat, and whose 
soiled drab trousers were so tightly strapped over his Blucher 
boots, that his knees threatened every moment to start from 
their concealment. He produced from his coat-pockets a long 
and narrow strip of parchment, on which the presiding func- 
tionary impressed an illegible black stamp. He then drew forth 
four scraps of paper, of similar dimensions, each containing a 
printed copy of the strip of parchment with blanks for a name ; 
and having filled up the blanks, put all the five documents in 
his pockets and hurried away. 

The man in the brown coat with the cabalistic documents in 
his pocket, was no other than our old acquaintance, Mr. Jack- 
son, of the house of Dodson and Fogg, Freeman’s Court, 
Cornhill. Instead of returning to the office from whence he 
came, however, he bent his steps direct to Sun Court, and 
walked straight into the George and Vulture, demanding to 
know whether one Mr. Pickwick was within. 

“ Call Mr. Pickwick’s servant, Tom,” said the bar-maid of 
the George and Vulture. 

“ Don’t trouble yourself,” said Mr. Jackson, “I’ve come aa 
business. If you’ll show me Mr. Pickwick’s room. I’ll st^ up 
myself. ” 

“ What name, Sir ? ” said the waiter. 

“ Jackson,” replied the clerk. 

The waiter stepped up stairs to announce Mr. Jackson ; but 
Mr. Jackson saved him that trouble by following close at his 


470 THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

heels, and walking into the apatrment before he could articulate 
a syllable. 

Mr. Pickwick had that day invited his three friends to dinner j 
and they were all seated round the fire, drinking their wine, 
when Mr. Jackson presented himself as above described. 

“How de do, Sir?” said Mr. Jackson, nodding to Mr. 
Pickwick. 

That gentleman bowed, and looked somewhat surprised, for 
the physiognomy of Mr. Jackson dwelt not in his recollection. 

“I have called from Dodson and Fogg’s,” said Mr. Jackson, 
in an explanatory tone. 

Mr. Pickwick roused at the name, “I refer you to my 
attorney. Sir: Mr. Perker, of Gray’s Inn,” said he. “Waiter, 
show this gentleman out.” 

“ Beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick,” said Jackson, deliberately 
depositing his hat on the floor, and drawing from his pocket 
the strip of parchment. “ But personal service, by clerk or 
agent, in these cases, you know, Mr. Pickwick — eh. Sir ? 
nothing like caution. Sir, in all legal forms — eh?” 

Here Mr. Jackson cast his eye on the parchment; and, 
resting his hands on the table, and looking round with a winning 
and persuasive smile, said, “Now come; don’t let’s have no 
words about such a little matter as this. Which of the gentle- 
men’s name’s Snodgrass? ” 

At this inquiry, Mr. Snodgrass gave such a very undisguised 
and palpable start, that no farther reply was needed. 

“ Ah I I thought so,” said Mr. Jackson, more affable than 
before. “I’ve got a little something to trouble you with. 
Sir.” 

“ Me 1 ” exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass. 

“ It’s only a subpoena in Bardell and Pickwick on behalf of 
the plaintiff,” replied Jackson, singling out one of the slips of 
paper, and producing a shiling from his waistcoat-pocket. 
“ It’ll come on in the settenes after Term ; fourteenth of 
Febooary, we expect ; we’ve marked it a special jury cause, and 
it’s only ten down the paper. That’s your’s, Mr. Snodgrass.” 
As Jackson said this, he presented the parchment before the 
eyes of Mr. Snodgrass, and slipped the paper and the shilling 
into his hand. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 471 

Mr. Tnpman had witnessed this process in silent astonish- 
ment, when Jackson, turning sharply upon him, said ; 

** I think I ain’t mistaken when I say your name’s Tupman, 
am I ? ” 

Mr. Tupman looked at Mr. Pickwick ; but perceiving no 
encouragement in that gentleman’s widely-opened eyes to deny 
his name, said ; 

“ Yes, my name is Tupman, Sir.” 

“And that other gentleman’s Mr. Winkle, I think,” said 
Jackson. 

Mr. Winkle faltered out a reply in the affirmative ; and both 
gentlemen were forthwith invested with a slip of paper, and a 
shilling each, by the dexterous Mr. Jackson. 

“Now,” said Jackson, “I’m afraid you’ll think me rather 
troublesome, but I want somebody else, if it ain’t inconvenient. 
I have Samuel Weller’s name here, Mr. Pickwick.” 

“ Send my servant here, waiter,” said Mr. Pickwick. The 
waiter retired, considerably astonished, and Mr. Pickwick 
motioned Jackson to a seat. 

There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by 
the innocent defendant. 

“I suppose. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, his indignation rising 
while he spoke ; “ I suppose. Sir, that it is the intention of 
your employers to seek to criminate me, upon the testimony of 
my own friends?” 

Mr. Jackson struck his fore-finger several times against the 
left side of his nose, to intimate that he was not there to dis- 
close the secrets of the prison-house, and playfully rejoined, 

“Not knowin’, can’t say.” 

“ For what other reason. Sir,” pursued Mr. Pickwick, “ are 
these subpoenas served upon them, if not for this ?” 

“ Yery good plant, Mr. Pickwick,” replied Jackson, slowly 
shaking his head. “ But it won’t do. No harm in trying, but 
there’s little to be got out of me.” 

Here Mr. Jackson smiled once more upon the company; 
and applying his left thumb to the tip of his nose, worked a 
visionary coffee-mill with the right hand, thereby performing a 
very graceful piece of pantomime (then much in vogue, but 


472 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


now, unhappily, almost obsolete) which was familiarly deno* 
minated “taking a grinder.’’ 

“ No, no, Mr. Pickwick,” said Jackson in conclusion ; “ Per* 
ker’s people must guess what we’ve served these subpoenas for 
If they can’t they must wait till the action comes on, and then 
they’ll find out.” 

Mr. Pickwick bestowed a look of excessive disgust on his 
unwelcome visiter, and would probably have hurled some tre- 
mendous anathema at the heads of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, 
had not Sam’s entrance at the instant interrupted him. 

“ Samuel Weller?” said Mr. Jackson, inquiringly. 

“ Y un ’o the truest things as you’ve said for many a long 
year,” replied Sara, in a most composed manner. 

“ Here’s a subpoena for you, Mr. Weller,” said Jackson. 

“ What’s that in English ?” inquired Sam. 

“Here’s the original,” said Jackson, declining the required 
explanation. 

“ Which ?” said Sam. 

“ This,” replied Jackson, shaking the parchment. 

“ Oh, that’s the ’rig’nal, is it ?” said Sara. “ Well, I’m wery 
glad I’ve seen the ’rig’nal, ’cos it’s a gratifyin’ sort ’o thing, 
and eases vun’s mind so much.” 

“And here’s the shilling,” said Jackson. “It’s from Dod- 
son and Fogg’s.” 

“And it’s uncommon handsome o’ Dodson and Fogg, as 
knows so little of me, to come down vith a present,” said Sam. 
“ I feel it as a wery high compliment. Sir ; and its a wery hon- 
’rable thing to them, as they know how to reward merit vere- 
ever they meets it. Besides vich, it’s wery affectin’ to one’s 
feelin’s.” 

As Mr. Weller said this, he inflicted a little friction on his 
right eye-lid, with the sleeve of his coat, after the most approved 
manner of actors when they are in domestic pathetics. 

Mr. Jackson seemed rather puzzled by Sam’s proceedings ; 
but, as he had served the subpoenas, and had nothing more 
to say, he made a feint of putting on the one glove which Jhe 
iisually carried in his hand, for the sake of appearances ; and 
returned to the office to report progress. 

Mr. Pickwick slept little that night ; his memory had received 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 473 

a very disagreeable refresher on the subject of Mrs BardelPa 
action. He breakfasted betimes next morning ; and, desiring 
Sam to accompany him, set forth towards Gray’s Inn square 

“ Sam 1” said Mr. Pickwick, looking round, when iey got 
to the end of Cheapside. 

“ Sir,” said Sam, stepping up to his master. 

“ Which way ?” 

“Up Newgate-street.” 

Mr. Pickwick did not turn round immediately, but looked 
vacantly in Sam’s face for a few seconds, and heaved a deep 
sigh. 

“ What’s the matter. Sir ?” inquired Sam. 

“This action, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, “is expected to 
come on, on the fourteenth of next month.” 

“ Remarkable coincidence that ’ere. Sir,” replied Sam. 

“Why remarkable, Sam,” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Wallentine’s day. Sir,” responded Sam; “reg’lar good day 
for a breach o’ promise trial.” 

Mr. Weller’s smile awakened no gleam of mirth in his mas- 
ter’s countenance. Mr. Pickwick turned abruptly round, and 
led the way in silence. 

They had walked some distance, Mr. Pickwick trotting on 
before plunged in profound meditation, and Sam following 
behind with a countenance expressive of the most enviable 
and easy defiance of every thing and every body, when the 
latter, who was always especially anxious to impart to his 
master any exclusive information he possessed, quickened his 
pace till he was close at Mr. Pickwick’s heels ; and pointing 
up at a house they, were passing, said, 

“ Wery nice pork-shop that ’ere. Sir.” 

“ Yes, it seems so,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Celebrated sassage factory,” said Sam. 

“ Is it ?” said Mr Pickwick. 

“ Is it I” reiterated Sam with some indignation ; “ I should 
rayther think it was. Why, Sir, bless your innocent eyebrows, 
that’s vere the mysterious disappearance of a respectable 
tradesman took place, four years ago.” 

“You don’t mean to say he was burked, Sam?” said Mr 
Pickwick, looking hastily round. 


474 


THE PICKTICK PAPERS. 


“No, I don’t indeed, Sir,” replied Mr. Wellei, “I vish T 
did ; far worse than that. He was the master o’ that ’ero 
shop, Sir, and the inwenter o’ the patent-never-Ieavin-olF sas* 
sage steam ’ingine, as ’ud swaller up a pavin’ stone if you put 
it too near, and grind it into sassages as easy as if it was a 
tender young baby. Wery proud o’ that machine he was, as 
it was nat’ral he should be ; and he’d stand down in the cellar 
a lookin’ at it, ven it was in full play, till he got quite melan- 
choly with joy. A wery happy man he’d ha’ been. Sir, in the 
procession o’ that ’ere ingine and two more lovely hinfants 
besides, if it hadn’t been for his wife, who was a most owda- 
cious wixen. She was always a follerin’ him about, and dinnin’ 
in his ears till at last he couldn’t stand it no longer. ‘ I’ll tell 
you what it is, my dear,’ he says one day; ‘if you persewere 
in this here sort of amusement,’ he says, ‘ I’m blessed if I don’t 
go away to ’Merriker; and that’s all about it.’ ‘You’re a idle 
willin’,’ says she, ‘ and I wish the ’Merrikins joy of their bar- 
gain.’ Arter vich she keeps on abusin’ him for half an hour, 
and then runs into the little parlor behind the shop, sets to a 
screamin’, says he’ll be the death on her, and falls in a fit, 
which lasts for three good hours — one o’ them fits which is all 
screamin’ and kickin’. "Well, next mornin’, the husband was 
missin’. He hadn’t taken nothin’ from the till — hadn’t even 
put on his great coat, so it was quite clear he warn’t gone to 
’Merriker. Didn’t come back next day, didn’t come back next 
week ; the Missis had bills printed sayin’ that, if he’d come 
back, he should be forgiven every thin’, (which was very liberal, 
seein’ that he hadn’t done nothin’ at all,) all the canals was 
dragged, and for two months arterwards venever a body turned 
up, it was carried, as a reg’lar thing, straight off to the sassage 
shop. Hows’ever none on ’em answered, so they gave out that 
he’d run avay, and she kept on the bis’ness. One Saturday 
night a little thin old gen’lm’n comes into the shop in a great 
passion and says, ‘Are you the missis o’ this here shop?’ 
‘Yes, I am,’ says she. ‘Well, Ma’am,’ says he, ‘then I’ve just 
looked in to say, that me and my family ain’t a goin’ to be 
choked for nothin’ ; and more than that, Ma’am,’ he says, 
‘you’ll allow me to observe, that as you don’t use the primest 
parts of tbe meat in the manufacter o’ sassages, I think you’d 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKkS. 


476 


find beef come nearly as cheap as buttons. ‘Buttons, Sirl^ 
says she. ‘Buttons, Ma’am,’ says the little old gentleman, un 
folding a bit of paper, and shewin’ twenty or thirty halves o' 
buttons. ‘ Nice seasonin’ for sassages is trousers’ buttons, 
Ma’am.’ ‘They’re my husband’s buttons,’ says the widder, 
beginnin’ to faint. ‘What!’ screams the little old gen’lm’n, 
turnin’ wery pale. ‘ I see it all,’ says the widder; ‘in a fit of 
temporary insanity he rashly converted hisself into sassages !’ 
And so he had. Sir,” said Mr. Weller, looking steadily into 
Mr. Pickwick’s horror-stricken countenance, “ or else he’d 
been draw’d into the ingine ; but however that might ha’ been, 
the little old gen’lm’n, who had been remarkably partial to sas- 
sages all his life, rushed out o’ the shop in a wild state, and 
was never heerd on artervards!” 

The relation of this affecting incident of private life, brought 
master and man to Mr. Perker’s chambers. Lowten, holding 
the door half open, was in conversation with a rustily-clad, 
miserable-looking man, in boots without toes, and gloves with- 
out fingers. There were traces of privation and suffering — 
almost of despair — in his lank and care-worn countenance ; he 
felt his poverty, for he shrunk to the dark side of the staircase 
as Mr. Pickwick approached. 

“It’s very unfortunate,” said the stranger, with a sigh. 

“Very,” said Lowten, scribbling his name on the door-post 
with his pen, and rubbing it out again with the feather. “Will 
you leave a message for him ?” 

“ When do you think he’ll be back ?” inquired the stranger. 

“Quite uncertain,” replied Lowten, winking at Mr. Pick 
wick, as the stranger cast his eyes toward the ground. 

“You don’t think it would be of any use my waiting for 
him ?” said the stranger, looking wistfully into the office. 

“ Oh no, I’m sure it wouldn’t,” replied the clerk, moving a 
little more into the centre of the door- way. “ He’s certain 
not to be back this week, and it’s a chance whether he will 
next, for when Perker once gets out of town, he’s never in a 
hurry to come back again.” 

“ Out of town I” said Mr. Pickwick ; “ dear me, how un- 
fortunate !” 

“ Don’t go away, Mr. Pickwick,” said Low'ten. “ I’ve got 


*76 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


a letter for you.” The stranger seeming to hesitate, once more 
looked towards the ground, and the clerk winked slily at Mr. 
Pickwick, as if to intimate that some exquisite piece of humoui! 
was going forward ; though what it was Mr. Pickwick could 
not, for the life of him, divine. 

“Step in, Mr. Pickwick,” said Lowten. “Well, will you 
leave a message, Mr. Watty, or will you call again ?” 

“ Ask him to be so kind as to leave out word what has been 
done in my business,” said the man ; “ for God’s sake, don’t 
neglect it, Mr. Lowten.” 

“No, no; I won’t forget it,” replied the clerk, “Walk in, 
Mr. Pickwick. Good morning, Mr. Watty ; it’s a fine day for 
walking, isn’t it ?” And, seeing that the stranger still lingered, 
he beckoned Sam Weller to follow his master in, and shut the 
door ill his face. 

“ There never was such a pestering bankrupt as that, since 
the world began, I do believe I” said Lowten, throwing down 
his pen with the air of an injured man. “ His affairs haven’t 
been in chancery quite four years yet, and I’m damned if he don’t 
come worrying here twice a- week. Step this way, Mr. Pickwick 
Perker is in, and he’ll see you, I know. Devilish cold,” he 
added, pettishly, “standing at that door, wasting one’s timo 
with such seedy vagabonds.” And having very vehemently 
stirred a particularly large fire with a particularly small poker, 
the clerk led the way to his principal’s private room, and an 
nounced Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Ah, my dear Sir,” said little Mr. Perker, bustling up from 
his chair ; “ Well, my dear Sir, and what’s the news about your 
matter — eh ? Any thing more about our friends in Freeman’s- 
court ? They’ve not been sleeping, I know that. Ah, they’re 
very smart fellows — very smart, indeed.” 

As the little man concluded, he took an emphatic pinch of 
nufif, as a tribute to the smartness of Messrs. Dodson and 

Fogg- 

“ They are great scoundrels,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Ay, ay,” said the little man; “that’s a mere matter of 
opinion, you know, and we won’t dispute about terms ; because 
of course you can’t be expected to view these subjects with a 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


47 / 


professional eje. Well, weVe done every thing that’s occes- 
sary. I have retained Sergeant Snubbin.” 

*‘Is he a good man ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Good man !” replied Perker ; “ bless your heart and soul, 
my dear Sir, Sergeant Snubbin is at the very top of his pro- 
fession. Gets treble the business of any man in court — engaged 
in every case. You needn’t mention it abroad ; but we say— 
we of the profession — that Sergeant Snubbin leads the court 
by the nose.” 

The little man took another pinch of snuff as he made this 
communication, and nodded mysteriously to Mr. Pickwick. 

“They have subpoena’d my three friends,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

“ Ah ! of course they would,” replied Perker. “ Important 
witnesses; saw you in a delicate situation.” 

“But she fainted of her own accord,” said Mr. Pickwick. 
“She threw herself into my arms.” 

“Very likely, my dear Sir,” replied Perker; “very likely 
and very natural. Nothing more so, my dear Sir — nothing. 
But who’s to prove it ?” 

“They have subpoena’d my servant, too,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick, quitting the other point ; for there Mr. Perker’s question 
had somewhat staggered him. 

“ Sam ?” said Perker. 

Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative. 

“Of course, my dear Sir; of course. I knew they would; 
I could have told you that, a month ago. You know, my dear 
Sir, if you will take the management of your affairs into your 
own hands after intrusting them to your Solicitor, you most 
also take the consequences.” Here Mr. Perker drew himself 
up with conscious dignity, and brushed some stray grains of 
snuff from his shirt frill. 

“ And what do they want him to prove ?” asked Mr. Pick- 
v.'ick, after two or three minutes’ silence. 

“ That you sent him up to the plaintiff’s to make some offer 
of a compromise, T suppose,” replied Perker. “ It don’t matter 
much, though I don’t think many counsel could get a great 
deal out of him. ” 

don’t think they could,” said Mr. Pickwick; smiling, 


478 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


despite his vexation at the idea of Sam’s appearance as a wit* 
ness. “ What course do we pursue 

“We have only one to adopt, my dear Sir,” replied Perker: 
‘‘cross-examine the witnesses, trust to Snubbin’s eloquence, 
throw dust in the eyes of the judge ; and ourselves on the 
jury.” 

“And suppose the verdict is against me?” said Mr. Pick 
wick. 

Mr. Perker smiled, took a very long pinch of snufF, stirred 
the fire, shrugged his shoulders, and remained expressively 
silent. 

“You mean that in this case I must pay the damages?” 
said Mr. Pickwick, who had watched this telegraphic answer 
with considerable sternness. 

Perker gave the fire another very unnecessary poke, and said, 
“I am afraid so.” 

“ Then I beg to announce to you my unaltered determination 
to pay no damages whatever,” said Mr. Pickwick, most em- 
phatically. “None, Perker. Not a pound, not a penny, of 
my money shall find its way into the pockets of Dodson and 
Fogg. That is my deliberate and irrevocable determination.” 
And Mr. Pickwick gave a heavy blow on the table beside him, 
in confirmation of the irrevocability of his intention. 

“Very well, my dear Sir, very well,” said Perker. “You 
know best, of course.” 

“ Of course,” replied Mr. Pickwick, hastily. “ Where does 
Sergeant Snubbin live ? ” 

“In Lincoln’s Inn, Old Square,” replied Perker. 

“ I should like to see him,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ See Sergeant Snubbin, my dear Sir I” rejoined Perker, in 
utter amazement. “ Pooh, pooh, my dear Sir, impossible. See 
Sergeant Snubbin I Bless you, ray dear Sir, such a thing was 
never heard of, without a consultation fee being previously 
paid, and a consultation fixed. It couldn’t be done, my dear 
Sir ; it couldn’t be done.” 

Mr. Pickwick, however, had made up his mind not only that 
it could be done, but that it should be done ; and the conse- 
quence was, that within ten minutes after he had received the 
assurance that the thing was impossible, he was conducted by 


TUE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


470 


his solicitor into the outer office of the great Sergeant Snubbiu 
himself. 

It was an uncarpeted room of tolerable dimensions, with a 
large writing-table drawn up near the fire, the baize top of 
which had long since lost all claim to its original hue of green, 
and had gradually grown gray with dust and age, except where 
all traces of its natural colour were obliterated by ink-stains. 
Upon the table were numerous little bundles of papers tied with 
red tape ; and behind it sat an elderly clerk, whose sleek ap- 
pearance and heavy gold watch-chain presented imposing indi- 
cations of the extensive and lucrative practice of Mr. Sergeant 
Snubbin. 

“Is the sergeant in his room, Mr. Mallard?” inquired 
Perker, offering his box with all imaginable courtesy. 

“Yes he is,”. was the reply, “but he’s very busy. Look 
here ; not an opinion given yet, on any one of these cases ; and 
an expedition fee paid with all of them.” The clerk smiled as 
he said this, and inhaled the pinch of snuff with a zest which 
seemed to be compounded of a fondness for snuff and a relish 
for fees. 

“ Something like practice, that,” said Perker. 

“ Yes,” said the barrister’s clerk, producing his own box, 
and offering it with the greatest cordiality ; “ and the best of it 
is, that as nobody alive except myself can read the Sergeant’s 
writing : they are obliged to wait for the opinions, when he has 
given them, till I have copied ’em, ha — ha — ha I ” 

“Which makes it good for we know who, besides the Ser- 
geant, and draws a little more out of the clients, eh ? ” said 
Perker ; “ Ha, ha, ha 1 ” At this the sergeant’s clerk laughed 
again — not a noisy boisterous laugh, but a silent, internal 
chuckle, which Mr. Pickwick disliked to hear. When a man 
bleeds inwardly, it is a dangerous thing for himself ; but when 
he laughs inwardly, it bodes no good to other people. 

“You haven’t made me out that little list of the fees that I 
am in your debt, have you ?” said Perker. 

“No, I have not,” replied the clerk. 

“I wish you would,” said Perker. “Let me have them, 
and I’ll send you a cheque. But I suppose you’re too busy 
pocketing the ready money, to think of debtors, eh ? ha, hay 
3] 


4B0 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


ha I” This sally seemed to tickle the clerk amazingly, and he 
once more enjoyed a little quiet laugh to himself. 

“But Mr. Mallard, my dear friend,” said Perker, suddenly 
recovering his gravity, and drawing the great man^s great man 
into a corner, by the lappel of his coat, “you must persuade 
the Sergeant to see me, and my client here.” 

“ Come, come,” said the clerk, “ that’s not bad either. See 
the sergeant 1 that’s too absurd.” Notwithstanding the absur- 
dity of the proposal, however, the clerk allowed himself to be 
gently drawn beyond the hearing of Mr. Pickwick ; and after 
a short conversation conducted in whispers, walked softly down 
a little dark passage and disappeared into the legal luminary’s 
sanctum, from whence he shortly returned on tiptoe, and in- 
formed Mr. Perker and Mr. Pickwick that the Sergeant had 
been prevailed upon, in violation of all his established rules 
and customs, to admit them at once. 

Mr. Sergeant Snubbin was a lantern -faced, sallow-com- 
plexioned man, of about five-and-forty, or — as the novels say 
— he might be fifty. He had that dull-looking boiled eyo 
w’hich is so often to be seen in the heads of people who have 
applied themselves during many years to a weary and laborious 
course of study ; and which would have been sufficient, without 
the additional eye-glass which dangled from a broad black 
riband round his neck, to warn a stranger that he w'as very 
near-sighted. His hair was thin and w'eak, w'hich was partly 
attributed to his having never devoted much time to its arrange- 
ment, and partly to his having worn for five-and-twenty years 
the forensic wig which hung on a block beside him. The 
marks of hair-powder on his coat-collar, and the ill-washed and 
worse tied white neckerchief round his throat, showed that he 
had not found leisure since he left the court to make any altera- 
tion in his dress ; while the slovenly style of the remainder of 
' his costume warranted the inference that his personal ap])ear- 
ance would not have been very much improved if he had. 
Books of practice, heaps of papers, and open letters, were 
scattered over the table without any attempt at order or 
arrangement ; the furniture of the room was old and ricKety ; 
the doors of the book-case we^e rotting in their hinges ; the 
dost flew out from the carpet U little clouds at every step ; the 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


481 


Minds were yellow with age and dirt ; and the state of every 
thing in the room showed, with a clearness not to be mistaken, 
that Mr. Sergeant Snubbin was far too much occupied with 
his professional pursuits to take any great heed or regard of 
his personal comforts. 

The sergeant was writing when his clients entered; he 
bowed abstractedly when Mr. Pickwick was introduced by his 
solicitor; and then, motioning them to a seat, put his pen 
carefully in the inkstand, nursed his left leg, and waited to bo 
spoken to. 

“ Mr. Pickwick is the defendant in Bardell and Pickwick, 
Sergeant Snubbins,” said Perker. 

“ I am retained in that, am I said the Sergeant. 

You are. Sir,” replied Perker. 

The Sergeant nodded his head, and waited for something 
else. 

“Mr. Pickwick was anxious to call upon you, Sergeant 
Snubbin,” said Perker, “to state to you, before you entered 
upon the case, that he denies there being any ground or pre- 
tence whatever for the action against him ; and that unless he 
came into court with clean hands, and without the mos* con- 
scientious conviction that he was right in resisting the plaintifiPs 
demand, he would not be there at all. I believe I state your 
views correctly ; do I not, my dear Sir ?” said the little man, 
turning to Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Quite so,” replied that gentleman. 

Mr. Sergeant Snubbin unfolded his glasses, raised them to 
his eyes ; and, after looking at Mr. Pickwick for a few seconds 
with great curiosity, turned to Mr. Perker, and said, smiling 
slightly as he spoke — 

“ Has Mr. Pickwick a strong case ?” 

The attorney shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Do you purpose calling witnesses ?” 

“No.” 

The smile on the sergeant’s countenance became more 
defined ; he rocked his leg with increased violence ; and, throw- 
ing himself back in his easy chair, coughed dubiously 

These tokens of the sergeant’s presentiments on the subject, 
slight as- they were, were not lost on Mr. Pickwick. He set- 


482 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


tied the spectacles, through which he had attentively regarded 
sucji demonstrations of the barrister’s feeling as he had per- 
mitted himself to exhibit, more firmly on his nose ; and said 
with great energy, and in utter disregard of all Mr. Perker’a 
admonitory winkings and frownings — 

“ My wishing to wait upon you for such a purpose as this. 
Sir, appears, I have no doubt, to a gentleman who sees so 
much of these matters as you must necessarily do, a very extra- 
ordinary circumstance.” 

The sergeant tried to look gravely at the fire, but the smile 
came back again. 

“ Gentlemen of your profession. Sir,” continued Mr. Pick- 
wick, ‘ seethewcrst side of human nature — all its disputes, 
all its ill-will and bad blood, rise up before you. You know 
from your experience of juries, (I mean no disparagement to 
you or them,) how much depends upon effect; and you are apt 
to attribute to others, a desire to use, for purposes of decep- 
tion and self-interest, the very instruments which you, in pure 
honesty and honour of purpose, and with a laudable desire to 
do your utmost for your client, know the temper and worth of 
BO well, from constantly employing them yourselves. I really 
believe that to this circumstance may be attributed the vulgar, 
but very general notion, of your being, as a body, suspicious, 
distrustful, and over-cautious. Conscious as I am. Sir, of tlie 
disadvantage of makincf such a declaration to you, under such 
circumstances, I have come here, because I wish you distinctly 
to understand, as my friend Mr. Perker has said, that I am 
innocent of the falsehood laid to my charge ; and although I am 
very well aware of the inestimable value of your assistance. Sir, 
I must beg to add, that unless you sincerely believe this, I 
would rather be deprived of the aid of your talents than have 
the advantage of them.” 

Long before the close of this address, which we are bound to 
say was of a very prosy character for Mr. Pickwick, the ser- 
geant had relapsed into a state of abstraction. After some 
minutes, however, during which he had resumed his pen, he 
appeared to be again aware of the presence of his client ; and, 
raising his head from the paper, said rather snappishly 

“ Who’s with me in t'lis case ?” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


488 


^ Mr. Phnnky, Sergeant Saubbin,^^ replied the attorney. 

“Phuiiky — Phunky,’’ said the sergeant; “I never heard the 
name before. He must be a very young man.” 

Yes, he is a very young man,” replied the attorney. “ He 
wa3 only called the other day. Let me see — oh, he hasiiH 
been at the Bar eight years yet.” 

‘‘Ah, I thought not,” said the sergeant, in that sort of 
pitying tone in which ordinary folks would speak of a yery 

helpless little child. “ Mr. Mallard, send round to Mr. 

Mr. ” 

“ Phunky’s— Holborn Court, Gray^s Inn,” interposed Perker 
— (Holborn Court, by the by, is South Square now) — “ Mr. 
Phunky ; and say I should be glad if he’d step here, a 
moment.” 

Mr. Mallard departed to execute his commission ; and Ser- 
geant Snubbin' relapsed into abstraction until Mr. Phunky 
himself was introduced. 

Although an infant barrister, he was a full-grown man. He 
had a vety nervous manner, and a painful hesitation in his 
speech ; it did not appear to be a natural defect, bnt seemed 
rather the result of timidity, arising from the consciousness o'* 
being “kept down” by want of means, or interest, or connexion, 
or imprudence, as the case might be. He was overawed by 
the sergeant, and profoundly courteous to the attorney. 

“I have not bad the pleasure of seeing you before, Mr. 
Phunky,” said Sergeant Snubbin, with haughty condescension. 

Mr. Phunky bowed. He had had the pleasure of seeing 
the sergeant, and of envying him too, with all a poor man’s 
envy, for eight years and a quarter. 

“You are with me in this case, I understand?” said the 
sergeant. 

If Mr. Phunky had been a rich man, he would have in- 
stantly sent for his clei-k to remind him ; if he had been a wise 
one, he would have applied his fore-finger to his forehead, and 
endeavored to recollect whether, in the multiplicity of his 
engagements, he had undertaken this one or not; but ae he 
was neither rich nor wise (in this sense at all events) he turned 
red and bowed. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


m 

“ HaTtf you read the papers, Mr. Phunky inquired the 
sergeant. 

Here again Mr. Phunkey should have professed to have for- 
gotten all about the merits of the case ; but as he had read 
such papers as had been laid before him, in the course of the 
action, and had thought of nothing else, waking or sleeping, 
throughout the two months during which he had been retained 
as Mr. Sergeant Snubbin’s junior, he turned a deeper red, and 
Dowed again. 

“ This is Mr. Pickwick,” said the sergeant, waving his pen 
In the direction in which that gentleman was standing. 

Mr. Phunky bowed to Mr. Pickwick, with the reverence 
which a first client must ever awaken ; and again inclined his 
bead towards his leader. 

“Perhaps you will take Mr. Pickwick away,” said the ser- 
geant, “ and — and — and — hear any thing Mr. Pickwick may 
wish to communicate. We shall have a consultation, of 
course.” With this hint that he had been interrupted quite 
long enough, Mr. Sergeant Snubbin, who had been gradually 
growing more and more abstracted, applied his glass to his 
eyes for an instant, bowed slightly round, and was once more 
deeply immersed in the case before him, which arose out of an 
interminable lawsuit, originating in the act of an individual 
deceased a century or so ago, who had stopped up a pathway 
leading from some place which nobody ever came from, to 
some place which nobody ever went to. 

Mr. Phunky would not hear of passing through any door 
until Mr. Pickwick and his solicitor had passed through before 
him, so it was sometime before they got into the square ; and 
when they did reach it, they walked up and down, and held a 
long conference, the result of which was, that it was a very 
difficult matter to say how the verdict would go ; that nobody 
could presume to calculate on the issue of an action ; that it 
was very lucky they had prevented the other party from getting 
Sergeant Snubbin ; and other topics of doubt and consolation, 
common in such a position of affairs. 

Mr. Weller was then roused by his master from a sweet 
Bleep of an hour’s duration; and bidding adieu to Lowteu, 
they returned to the city. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


DESCRIBES, FAR MORE FULLY TUAN THE COURT NEWSMAN EVER 

DID, A BACHEIX)R’S PARTY, GIVEN BY MR. BOB SAWYER AT 

HIS LODGINGS IN THE BOROUGH. 

There is a repose about Lant Street, in the Borough, which 
sheds a gentle melancholy upon the soul’ There are always a 
good many houses to let in the street : it is a by-street too, and 
its dulness is soothing. A house in Lant Street would not 
come within the denomination of a first-rate residence, in the 
strict acceptation of the term ; but it is a most desirable spot 
nevertheless. If a man wished to abstract himself from the 
world ; to remove himself from within the reach of temptation ; 
to place himself beyond the possibility of any inducement to 
look out of the window, we should recommend him by all 
means to go to Lant Street. 

In this happy retreat are colonised a few clear-starchers, a 
sprinkling of journeymen book-binders, one or two prison 
agents for the Insolvent Court, several small house-keepers 
who are employed in the Docks, a handful of mantua-makers, 
and a seasoning of jobbing tailors. The majority of the in- 
habitants either direct their energies to the letting of furnished 
apartments, or devote themselves to the healthful and invigor- 
ating pursuit of mangling. The chief features in the still life 
of the street, are green shutters, lodging-bills, brass door- 
plates, and bell-handles ; the principal specimens of animated 
nature, the pot-boy, the muffin youth, and the baked-potato 
man. The population is migratory, usually disappearing on 
the verge of quarter-day, and generally by night. His majesty’s 
revenues are seldom collected in this happy valley, the rents 
are dubious, and the water communication is very frequently 
cut off. 

Mr. Bob Sawyer embellished one side of the fire, in his first* 
floor front, early on the evening for which he had invited Mr. 

( 485 ) 


486 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Pickwick; and Mr. Ben Allen the other. The preparations 
fori.he reception of visiters appeared to be completed. The 
umbrellas in the passage had been heaped into the little corner 
outside the back-parJor door; the .bqnnet and shawl of the 
landlady’s servant had tleen removed from the bannisters; 
there were not more than two pairs of pattens on the street- 
door mat ; and a kitchen candle, with a very long snuff, burnt 
cheerfully on the ledge of the staircase window. Mr. Bob 
Sawyer had himself purchased the spirits at a wine-vault in 
High Street, and had returned home preceding the bearor 
thereof, to preclude the possibility of their delivery at the 
wrong house. The punch was ready-made in a red pan in the 
bed-room ; a little table, covered with a green baize cloth, had 
been borrowed from the parlor, to play at cards on; and the 
glasses of the establishment, together with those which had 
been borrowed for the occasion from the public-house, were all 
drawn up in a tray, which was deposited on the landing out- 
side the door. 

. Notwithstanding the highly satisfactory nature of all these 
arrangements, there was a cloud on the countenance of Mr. 
Bob Sawyer, as he sat by the fireside. There was a sympa- 
thising expression, too, in the features of Mr. Ben Allen, as 
he gazed intently on the coals ; and a tone of melancholy in 
his voice, as he said, after a long silence — 

“ Well, it is unlucky that she should have taken it in her 
head to sour, just on this occasion. She might at least have 
waited till to-morrow.’^ 

“ That’s her malevolence; that’s ner malevolence,” returned 
Mr. Bob Sawyer, vehemently. “ She says, that if I can afford 
to give a party, I ought to be able to afford to pay her con- 
founded ‘little bill.’ ” 

“ How long has it been running ?” inquired Mr. Ben Allen. 
A bill, by the by, is the most extraordinary locomotive engine 
that the genius of man ever produced. It would keep on 
running during the longest lifetime, without ever once stop- 
ping of its own accord. 

“ Only a quarter, and a month or so,” replied Mr. Bob 
Sawyer. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


487 


Ben Allen coughed hopelessly, and directed a searching 
look between the two top bars of the stove. 

“ It^ll be a deuced unpleasant thing if she takes it into het 
head to let out, when those fellows are here, won’t it?” said 
Mr. Ben Allen, at length. 

“ Horrible,” replied Bob Sawyer, horrible.” 

A low tap was heard at the room door. Mr. Bob Sawyer 
looked expressively at his friend, and bade the tapper come 
in ; whereupon a dirty slip-shod girl in black cotton stockings, 
who might have passed for the neglected daughter of a super- 
annuated dustman in very reduced circumstances, thrust in her 
head, and said, 

“ Please, Mister Sawyer, Missus Raddle wants to speak to 
2/0 w.” 

Before Mr. Bob Sawyer could return any answer, the girl 
suddenly disappeared with a jerk, as if somebody had given 
her a violent pull behind ; this mysterious exit was no sooner 
accomplished than there was another tap at the door — a smart 
pointed tap, which seemed to say, “ Here I am, and in I’m 
coming.” 

Mr. Bob Sawyer glanced at his friend with a look of abject 
apprehension, and once more cried, ‘‘Come in.” 

The permission was not at all necessary, for, before Mr. 
Bob Sawyer had uttered the words, a little fierce woman 
bounced into the room, all in a tremble with passion, and pale 
with rage. 

“Now, Mr. Sawyer,” said the little fierce woman, trying to 
appear very calm, “if you’ll have the kindness to settle that 
little bill of mine. I’ll thank you, because I’ve got my rent to 
pay this afternoon, and my landlord’s a waiting below now.” 
Here the little woman rubbed her hands, and looked steadily 
over Mr. Bob Sawyer’s head, at the wall behind him. 

“ I am very sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Mrs. 
Raddle,” said Bob Sawyer, deferentially, “but — ” 

“ Oh, it isn’t any inconvenience,” replied the little woman, 
with a shrill titter. “I didn’t want it particular before to-day; 
leastways as it has to go to my landlord directly, it was as well 
for you to keep it as me. You promised me this afternoon, 
Mr. Sawyer, and every gentleman as has ever lived here has 


488 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


kept his word, Sir, as of course any body as calls himself a 
gentleman does.” And Mrs. Raddle tossed her head, bit her 
lips, rubbed her hands harder, and looked at the wall more 
steadily than ever. It was plain to see, as Mn Bob Sawyer 
remarked in a style of eastern allegory on a subsequent oc- 
casion, that she was “getting the steam up.” 

“ I am very sorry, Mrs. Raddle,” said Bob Sawyer with all 
imaginable humility, “ but the fact is, that I have been disap- 
pointed in the city to-day.” Extraordinary place that city. 
We know a most astonishing number of men who always are 
getting disappointed there. 

'‘AVell, Mr. Sawyer,” said Mrs. Raddle, planting herself 
firmly on a purple cauliflower in the kidderminster carpet, “ and 
what’s that to me. Sir ?” 

“ I — I — have no doubt, Mrs. Raddle,” said Bob Sawyer, 
blinking this last question, “that before the middle of next 
week we shall be able to set ourselves quite square, and go on 
a better system afterwards.” 

This was all Mrs. Raddle wanted. She had bustled up to 
the apartment of the unlucky Bob Sawyer so bent upon going 
into a passion, that in all probability payment would have 
rather disappointed her than otherwise. She was in excellent 
order for a little relaxation of the kind, having just exchanged 
a few introductory compliments with Mr. R. in the front 
kitchen. 

“ Do you suppose, Mr. Sawyer,” said Mrs. Raddle, elevat- 
ing her voice for the information of the neighbors, “ do you 
suppose that I’m a-going day after day to let a fellar occupy 
my lodgings as never thinks of paying his rent, nor even the 
very money laid out for the fresh butter and lump sugar that’s 
bought for his breakfast ; and the very milk that’s took 
in, at the street door? Do you suppose a hard-working 
and industrious woman as has lived in this street for twenty 
years (ten years over the way, and nine years and three-quar- 
ters in this very house), has nothing else to do, but to work 
herself to death after a parcel of lazy idle fellars, that are 
always smoking and drinking, and lounging, when they ought 
to be glad t > turn their hands to any think that would help’em 
to pay their bills * Do you — ” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


**My good soul,” interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen, sooth- 
ingly. 

“ Have the goodness to keep your observations to yourself, 
Sir, I beg,” said Mrs. Raddle, suddenly arresting the torrent 
of her speech, and addressing the third party with impressive 
slowness and solemnity. “ I am not aweer. Sir, that you havo 
any right to address your conversation to me. 1 don’t think 
1 let these apartments to you, Sir.” 

‘‘No, you certainly did not,” said Mr. Benjamin Allen. 

“Very good, Sir,” responded Mrs. Raddle, with lofty polite- 
ness. “ Then p’rhaps. Sir, you’ll confine yourself to breaking 
the arms and legs of the poor people in the hospitals, and 
keep yourself to yourself. Sir, or there may be some persons 
here as will make you. Sir.” 

“ But you are such an unreasonable woman,” remonstrated 
Mr. Benjamin Allen. 

“ I beg your parding, young man,” said Mrs. Raddle, in a 
cold perspiration of anger. “ But will you have the goodness 
just to call me that again. Sir?” 

“ I didn’t make use of the word in any invidious manner, 
Ma’am,” replied Mr. Benjamin Allen, growing somewhat 
uneasy on his own‘account. 

“ I beg your parding, young man,” demanded Mrs. Raddle 
in a louder and more imperative tone. “But, who do you call 
a woman ? Did you make that remark to me, Sir ?” 

“Why, bless my heart 1” said Mr. Benjamin Allen. 

“Did you apply that name to me, I ask of you. Sir ?” inter- 
rupted Mrs. Raddle, with intense fierceness, throwing the door 
wide open. 

“ Why, of course I did,” replied Mr Benjamin Allen. 

“Yes, of course you did,” said Mrs. Raddle, backing 
gradually to the door, and raising her voice to its loudest 
pitch, for the special behoof of Mr. Raddle in the kitchen. 
“ Yes, of course you did, and every body knows that they may 
safiily insult me in my own ouse while my husband sits sleeping 
down stairs, and taking no more notice than if I was a dog in 
the streets. He ought to be ashamed of himself (here Mrs. 
Raddle sobbed) to allow his wife to be treated in this way by 
a parcel of young cutters and carvers of live people’s bodies, 


490 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


that disgraces the lodgings, (another sob,) and leaving her 
exposed to all manner of abuse, a base faint-hearted, timorous 
wretch, that's afraid to come up stairs, and face tlie ruffinly 
creatures — that’s afraid — that’s afraid to come.” Mrs. Rad« 
die paused to hear whether the repetition of the taunt liad 
roused her better half ; and, finding that it had not been suc- 
cessful, proceeded to descend the stairs with sobs innumerable, 
when there came a loud double knock at the street door ; 
whereupon she burst into an hysterical fit of weeping, accom- 
panied with dismal moans, which was prolonged until the 
knock had been repeated six times, when, in an uncontrollable 
burst of mental agony, she threw down all the umbrellas, and 
disappeared into the back parlor, closing the door after her 
with an awful crash. 

“Does Mr. Sawyer live here ?” said Mr. Pickwick, when the 
door was opened. 

“Yes,” said the girl, “first floor. It’s the door straight 
afore you, when you gets to the top of the stairs.” — Having 
given this instruction, the handmaid, who had been brought 
up among the aboriginal inhabitants of Southwark, disappeared 
with the candle in her hand down the kitchen stairs, perfectly 
satisfied that she had done every thing that could possibly be 
required of her under the circumstances. 

Mr. Snodgrass, who entered last, secured the street door, 
after several ineffectual efforts, by putting up the chain; and 
the friends stumbled up stairs, where they were received by 
Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been afraid to go down lest he 
should be waylaid by Mrs. Raddle. 

“ How are you ?” said the discomfited student — “ Glad to 
see you — take care of the glasses.” This caution was ad- 
dressed to Mr. Pickwick, who had put his hat in the tray. 

“Dear me,” said Mr Pickwick, “I beg your pardon.” 

“Don’t mention it, don’t mention it,” said Bob Sawyer, 
“ I’m rather confined for room here, but you must put up with 
all that, when you come to see a young bachelor. Walk in. 
You’ve seen this gentleman before, I think ?” Mr. Pickwick 
shook hands with Mr. Benjamin Allen, and his friends followed 
his example. They had scarcely taken their seats when there 
was another double knock. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


m 


“ I hope that’s Jack Hopkins said Mr. Bob Sawyer, 
“ Hush. Yes, it is. Come up, Jack ; come up.” 

A heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Jack Hop- 
kins presented himself. He wore a black velvet waistcoat, 
with thunder-and-lightning buttons; and a blue striped shirt, 
with a white false collar. 

“ You’re late. Jack ?” said Mr. Benjamin Allen. 

“Been detained at Bartholomew’s,” — replied Hopkins. 

“Anything new ?” 

“No, nothing particular. Bather a good accident brought 
into the casualty ward.” 

“ What was that. Sir ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Only a man fallen out of a four pair of stairs’ window 
but it’s a very fair case indeed ?” 

“ Do you mean that the patient is in a fair way to recover ?” 
inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“No,” replied Hopkins, carelessly. “No, I should rather 
say he wouldn’t. There must be a splendid operation though, 
to-morrow — magnificent sight if Slasher does it.” 

“You consider Mr. Slasher a good operator?” said Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“ Best alive,” replied Hopkins. “ Took a boy’s leg out of 
the socket last week — boy ate five apples and a gingerbread 
cake — exactly two minutes after it was all over, boy said he 
wouldn’t lie there to be made game of; and he’d tell his 
mother if they didn’t begin.” 

“ Dear me I” said Mr. Pickwick, astonished. 

“ Pooh I that’s nothing, that ain’t,” said Jack Hopkins. 
“Is it, Bob?” 

“Nothing at all,” replied Mr. Bob Sawyer. 

“By the bye. Bob,” said Hopkins, with a scarcely percepti- 
ble glance at Mr. Pickwick’s attentive face, “ we had a curious 
accident last night. A child was brought in, who had swal- 
lowed a necklace.” 

“ Swallowed what. Sir ?” interrupted Mr. Pickwick. 

“A necklace,” replied Jack Hopkins. “Not all at once, 
you know, that would be too much — you couldn’t swallow 
that, if the child did — eh, Mr. Pickwick, ha I ha!” — Mr 
Hopkins appeared highly gratified with his own pleasantry ; 


<92 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


and continued — “ No, the way was this ; — child’s parents were 
poor people who lived in a court. Child’s eldest sister bought 
a necklace, — common necklace, made of large black wooden 
beads. Child, being fond of toys, cribbed the necklace, hid it, 
played with it, cut the string, and swallowed a bead. Child 
thought it capital fun, went back next day, and swallowed 
another bead.” 

“Bless my heart,” said Mr. Pickwick, “what a dreadful 
thing 1 I beg your pardon. Sir. Go on.” 

“ Next day, child swallowed two beads ; the day after that, 
he treated himself to three, and so on, till in a week’s time he 
had got through the necklace, five-and-twenty beads in all. 
The sister, who was an industrious girl, and seldom treated 
herself to a bit of finery, cried her eyes out, at the loss of the 
necklace ; looked high and low for it ; but I needn’t say didn’t 
find it. A few days afterwards, the family were at dinner — 
baked shoulder of mutton, and potatoes under it — the child, 
who wasn’t hungry, was playing about the room, when sud- 
denly there was heard a devil of a noise, like a small hail 
storm. ‘Don’t do that, my boy,’ said the father. ‘I ain’t a 
doin’ nothing,’ said the child. ‘ Well, don’t do it again,’ said 
the father. There was a short silence, and then the noise 
began again, worse than ever. ‘If you don’t mind what I say, 
my boy,’ said the father, ‘you’ll find yourself in bed, in some- 
thing less than a pig’s whisper.’ He gave the child a shake 
to make him obedient, and such a rattling ensued as nobody 
ever heard before. ‘ Why, damme, it’s in the child !’ said the 
father, ‘he’s got the croup in the wrong place I’ ‘ No I haven’t, 
father,’ said the child, beginning to cry, ‘ it’s the necklace ; I 
swallowed it, father.’ — The father caught the child up, and ran 
with him to the hospital : the beads in the boy’s stomach rat- 
tling all the way with the jolting; and the people looking up in 
the air, and down in the cellars, to see where the unusual sound 
came from. He’s in the hospital now,” said Jack Hopkins, 
“ and he makes such a devil of a noise when he walks about, 
that they’re obliged to muffle him in a watchman’s coat, for 
fear he should wake the patients !” 

“That’s the most extraordinary case I ever heard of,” said 
Mr. Pickwick, with an emphatic blow on the table. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


49 » 


" Oh, that’s nothing,” said Jack Hopkins ; “is it Bob 

“ Certainly not,” replied Mr. Bob Sawyer. 

“ Y ery singular things occur in our profession, I can assure 
you. Sir,” said Hopkins. 

“ So I should be disposed to imagine,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

Another knock at the door announced a large-headed young 
man in a black wig, who brought with him a scorbutic youth 
in a long stock. The next comer was a gentleman in a shirt 
emblazoned with pink anchors, who was closely followed by a 
pale youth with a plaited watch-guard. The arrival of a prim 
personage in clean linen and cloth boots rendered the party 
complete. The little table with the green baize cover was 
wheeled out ; the first instalment of punch was brought in in a 
white jug; and the succeeding three hours were devoted to 
vingt-un at six pence a dozen, which was only once interrupted 
by a slight dispute between the scorbutic youth and the gentle- 
man with the pink anchors ; in the course of which, the scorbutic 
youth intimated a burning desire to pull the nose of the gentle- 
man with the emblems of hope ; in reply to which, that indi- 
vidual expressed his decided unwillingness to accept of any 
“sauce” on gratuitous terms, either from the irascible young 
gentleman w'ith the scorbutic countenance, or any other person 
who was ornamented with a head. 

When the last “ natural ” had been declared, and the profit 
and loss account of fish and sixpences adjusted to the satisfac- 
tion of all parties, Mr. Bob Sawyer rang for supper, and the 
visiters squeezed themselves into corners while it was getting 
ready. 

It was not so easily got ready as some people may imagine. 
First of all, it was necessary to awaken the girl, who had fallen 
asleep with her face on the kitchen table ; this took a little 
time, and even when she did answer the bell, another quarter 
of an hour was consumed in fruitless endeavors to impart to 
her a faint and distant glimmering of reason. The man to 
whom the order for the oysters had been sent, had not been 
told to open them ; it is a very difficult thing to open an oyster 
with a limp knife or a two-pronged fork, and very little was 
done in this way. Very little of the beef was done either ; and 
the ham (which was also from the German sausage-shop round 


494 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


the corner,) was in a similar predicament. However, there 
was plenty of porter in a tin can : and the cheese went a great 
way, for it was very strong. So, upon the whole, perhaps, the 
supper was quite as good as such matters usually are. 

After supper another jug of punch was put upon the table 
together with a paper of cigars, and a couple of bottles Oi 
spirits. Then there was an awful pause ; and this awful pause 
was occasioned by a very common occurrence in this sort of 
places, but a very embarrassing one notwithstanding. 

The fact is, that the girl was washing the glasses. The 
establishment boasted four : we do not record the circumstance 
as at all derogatory to Mrs. Raddle, for there was never a 
lodging-house yet, that was not short of glasses. The land- 
lady’s glasses were little thin blown glass tumblers, and those 
which had been borrowed from the public-house were great, 
dropsical, bloated articles, each supported on a huge gouty leg. 
This would have been in itself suflScient to have possessed the 
company with the real state of affairs ; but the young woman 
of all work had prevented the possibility of any misconception 
arising in the mind of any gentleman upon the subject, by 
forcibly dragging every man’s glass away, long before he had 
finished his beer, and audibly stating, despite the winks and 
interruptions of Mr. Bob Sawyer, that it was to be conveyed 
down stairs and washed forthwith. 

It is a very ill wind that blows nobody any good. The prim 
man in the cloth boots, who had been unsuccessfully attempting 
to make a joke daring the whole time the round game lasted, 
saw his opportunity, and availed himself of it. The instant the 
glasses disappeared, he commenced a long story about a great 
public character, whose name he had forgotten, making a par- 
ticularly happy reply to another eminent and illustrious indi- 
vidual whom he had never been able to identify. He enlarged 
at some length and with great minuteness upon divers collateral 
circumstances, distinctly connected with the anecdote in hand, 
but for the life of him be couldn’t recollect at that precise 
moment what the anecdote was, although he had been in the 
habit of telling the story with great applause for the last ten 
years. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


496 


**Dear me,’^ said the prim man in the cloth boots, “it’s a 
very extraordinary circumstance.” 

“ I am sorry you have forgotten it,” said Mr. Bob Sawyer, 
glancing eagerly at the door, as he thought he heard the noise 
of glasses jingling — “ very sorry.” 

“ So am I,” responded the prim man, “ because I knew it 
would have afforded so much amusement. Never mind ; I 
dare say I shall manage to recollect it, in the course of half an 
hour or so.” 

The prim man arrived at this point, just as the glasses came 
back, when Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been absorbed in atten- 
tion during the whole time, said he should very much like to 
hear the end of it, for so far as it went, it was, without excep- 
tion, the very best story he had ever heard. 

The sight of the tumblers restored Bob Sawyer to a degree 
of equanimity which he had not possessed since his interview 
with his landlady. His face brightened up, and he began to 
feel quite convivial. 

“ Now, Betsy,” said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with great suavity 
and dispersing, at the same time, the tumultuous little mob of 
glasses that the girl had collected in the centre of the table ; 
“Now, Betsy, the warm water; be brisk, there’s a good girl.” 

“ You cant’t have no warm water,” replied Betsy. 

“ No warm water I” exclaimed Bob Sawyer. 

“ No,” said the girl, with a shake of the head which expressed 
a more decided negative that the most copious language could 
have conveyed. “Missis Raddle said you warn’t to have 
none.” 

The surprise depicted on the countenances of his guests 
imparted new courage to the host. 

“ Bring up the warm water instantly — instantly I” said Mr 
Bob Sawyer, with desperate sternness. 

“No; I can’t,” replied the girl ; “Missis Raddle raked out 
the kitchen fire afore she went to bed, and locked up the kittle.” 

“ Oh, never mind ; never mind. Pray don’t disturb yourself 
about such a trifle,” said Mr. Pickwick, observing the coiifli( t 
of Bob Sawyer’s passions, as depicted in his countenance, 
“cold water will do very well.” 

“ Oh, admirably !” said Mr. Benjamin Allen 
32 


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“ My landlady is subject to some slight attacks of mental 
derangement,” remarked Bob Sawyer with a ghastly smile; “I 
fear I must give her warning.” 

‘•No, don’t,” said Ben Allen. 

“ I fear I must,” said Bob with heroic firmness. “ I’ll pay 
her what I owe her and give her warning to-morrow morning. ” 
Poor fellow I how devoutly he wished he could I 

Mr. Bob Sawyer’s heart-sickening attempts to rally under 
this last blow communicated a dispiriting influence to tlie com- 
pany, the greater part of whom, with the view of raising their 
spirits, attached themselves with extra cordiality to the cold 
brandy and water, the first perceptible effects of which were 
displayed in a renewal of hostilities between the scorbutic 
youth and the gentleman of the sanguine shirt. The bellige- 
rents vented their feelings of mutual contempt, for some time, 
in a variety of frowuings and snortings, until at last the scor- 
butic youth felt it necessary to come to a more explicit under- 
standing on the matter, when the following clear understanding 
took place. 

“ Sawyer,” said the scorbutic youth, in a loud voice. 

“Well, Noddy,” replied Mr. Bob Sawyer. 

^ “I should be very sorry, Sawyer,” said Mr. Noddy, “to 
create any unpleasantness at any friend’s table, and much less 
at yours. Sawyer, — very ; but I must take this opportunity of 
informing , Mr. Gunter that he is no gentleman.” 

“ And I should be very sorry. Sawyer, to create any disturb- 
ance in the street in which you reside,” said Mr. Gunter, “ but 
I’m afraid I shall be under the necessity of alarming the neigh- 
bours by throwing the person who has just spoken, out o' 
the window.” 

“ What do you mean by that. Sir ?” inquired Mr. Noddy. 

“ What I say. Sir,” replied Mr. Gunter. 

. “ I should like to see you do it. Sir,” said Mr. Noddy. 

“You shall feel me do it in half a minute, Sir,” replied Mr. 
Gunter. 

“ J request that you’ll favor me with your card, sir,” said Mr. 
Noddy. 

“ I’ll do nothing of the kind, Sir,” replied Mr. Gunter. 

“Why not, Sir ?” inquired Mr. Noddy. 


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497 


‘‘Becanse you’ll stick it up over your chimney-piece, anJ 
delude your visiters into the false belief that a gentleman hi,s 
been to see you, Sir,” replied Mr. Gunter. 

“ Sir, a friend of mine shall wait on you in the morning,” 
said Mr. Noddy. 

“ Sir, I’m very much obliged to you for the caution, and l-ll 
leave particular directions with the servant to lock up the 
spoons,” replied Mr. Gunter. 

At this point the remainder of the guests interposed, and 
remonstrated with both parties on the impropriety of their con- 
duct, on which Mr. Noddy begged to state that his father was 
quite as respectable as Mr. Gunter’s father; to which Mr. 
Gunter replied that his father was to the full as respectable as 
Mr. Noddy’s father, and that his father’s son was as good a 
man as Mr. Noddy, any day in the week. As this announce- 
ment seemed the prelude to a recommencement of the dispute, 
there was another interference on the part of the company ; and 
a vast quantity of talking and clamoring ensued, in the course 
of which Mr. Noddy gradually allowed his feelings to over- 
power him, and professed that he had ever entertained a de- 
voted personal attachment towards Mr. Gunter. To this Mr. 
Gunter replied that, upon the whole, he rather preferred Mr. 
Noddy to his own brother ; on hearing which admission Mr. 
Noddy magnanimously rose from his seat, and proffered his 
hand to Mr. Gunter. Mr. Gunter grasped it with affecting 
fervor ; and everybody said that the whole dispute had been 
conducted in a manner which was highly honorable to both 
parties concerned. 

“Now,” said Jack Hopkins, “just to set us going again. 
Bob, I don’t mind singing a song.” And Hopkins, incited 
thereto, by tumultuous applause, plunged himself at once into 
“ The King, God bless him,” which he sang as loud as he could, 
to a novel air, compounded of the “Bay of Biscay,” and “A 
Frog. he would.” — The chorus was the essence of the song, 
and, as each gentleman sang it to the tune he knew best, the 
effect was very striking indeed. 

It was at the end of the chonis to the first verse, that Mr. 
Pickwick held up his hand in a listening attitude, and said, as 
soon as silence was restored — 


^8 


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Hush ! I beg your pardon. I thought I heard somebody 
calling from up stairs.” 

A profound silence immediately ensued ; and Mr. Bob Saw- 
yer was observed to turn pale. 

“ I think I hear it now,” said Mr. Pickwick. “ Have the 
goodness to open the door.” 

The door was no sooner opened than all doubt on the subject 
was removed. 

“Mr. Sawyer — Mr. Sawyer” — screamed a voice from the 
two-pair landing. 

“ It’s my landlady,” said Bob Sawyer, looking round him 
with great dismay. “ Yes, Mrs. Raddle.” 

“ What do you mean by this, Mr. Sawyer ?” replied the voice, 
with great shrillness and rapidity of utterance. “Ain’t it 
enough to be swindled out of one’s rent, and money lent out of 
pocket besides, and abused and insulted by your friends that 
dares to call themselves men, without having the house turned 
out of the window, and noise enough made to bring the fire- 
engines here, at two o’clock in the morning ? — Turn them 
wretches away.” 

“ You ought to be ashamed of yourselves,” said the voice of 
Mr. Raddle, which appeared to proceed from beneath some 
distant bed-clothes. 

“ Ashamed of themselves I ” said Mrs. Raddle. “ Why don’t 
you go down and knock ’em every ’one down stairs ? you would 
if you was a man.” 

“ I should if I was a dozen men, my dear,” replied Mr. Rad- 
dle, pacifically, “but they’ve rather the advantage of me in 
numbers, my dear.” 

“Ugh, you coward 1” replied Mrs. Raddle, with supreme 
contempt. “Do you mean to turn them wretches out, or not, 
Mr. Sawyer ? ” 

“ Tliey’re going, Mrs. Raddle, they’re going,” said the 
miserable Bob. “ I am afraid you’d better go,” said Mr. Bob 
Sawyer to his friends. “ I thought you were making too much 
noise.” 

“It’s a very unfortunate thing,” said the prim man. “Just 
4S we were getting so comfortable too I ” The fact was, that 


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499 


the prim man was just beginning to have a dawning recolleo 
tiou of the story he had forgotten. 

“ It\s hardly to be borne,” said ;he prim man, looking round. 
“ Hardly to be borne, is it ? ” 

“ Not to be endured,” replied Jack Hopkins ; “let’s have the 
other verse. Bob ; come, here goes. 

“ No, no. Jack, don’t” interposed Bob Sawyer ; “ it’s a capital 
song, but I am afraid we had better not have the other verse. 
They are very violent people, the people of the house.” 

“ Shall I step up stairs and pitch into the landlord ? ” in- 
quired Hopkins, “ or keep on ringing the bell, or go and groan 
on the staircase ? You may command me. Bob.” 

“ I am very much indebted to you for your friendship, and 
good nature, Hopkins,” said the wretched Mr. Bob Sawyer, 
“ but I think the best plan to avoid any further disputes is for 
us to break up at once.” 

“Now, Mr. Sawyer,” screamed the shrill voice of Mrs. Rad- 
dle, “ are them brutes going ? ” 

“They’re only looking for their hats, Mrs. Raddle,” said 
Bob, “they are going directly.” 

“ Going 1 ” said Mrs. Raddle, thrusting her night-cap over 
the bannisters just as Mr. Pickwick, followed by Mr. Tupman, 
emerged from the sitting-room. “ Going I What did they 
ever come for ? ” 

“ My dear ma’am,” remonstrated Mr. Pickwick, looking up. 

“ Get along with you, you old wretch I ” replied Mrs. Raddle, 
hastily withdrawing her night-cap. “ Old enough to be his 
grandfather, you villin ! You’re worse than any of ’em.” 

Mr. Pickwick found it in vain to protest his innocence, so 
hurried down stairs into the street, whither he was closely fol- 
lowed by Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. Mr. 
Ben Allen, who was dismally depressed with spirits and agita- 
tion, accompanied them as far as London Bridge, and in the 
course of the walk confided to Mr. Winkle, as an especially 
eligible person to intrust the secret to, that he was resolved to 
cut the throat of any gentleman except Mr. Bob Sawyer who 
should aspire to the affections of his sister Arabella. Having 
txprcssed his determination to pe3form this painful duty of a 


600 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


brother with proper firmness, he burst into tears, knocked his 
hat over his eyes, and, making the best of his way back, knocked 
double knocks at the door of the Borough Market, and took 
short naps on the steps alternately, till daybreak, under the firm 
impression that he lived there, and had forgotten the key. 

The visiters having all departed, in compliance with the 
rather pressing request of Mrs. Raddle, the luckless Mr. Bob 
Sawyer was left alone, to meditate on the probable events of 
the morrow, and the pleasures of the evening. 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 


low MR. WELLER THE ELDER DELIVERS SOME CRITICAL SENTI- 
MENTS RESPECTING LITERARY COMPOSITION ; AND ASSIS'J'ED BY 
HIS SON SAMUEL, PAYS A SMALL INSTALMENT OF RETALIATION 
TO THE ACCOUNT OP THE REVEREND GENTLEMAN WITH THE 
RED NOSE. 

The morning of the thirteenth of February, which the 
readers of this authentic narrative know, as well as we do, to 
have been the day immediately preceding that which was 
appointed for the trial of Mrs. Bardell’s action, was a busy 
time for Mr. Samuel Weller, who was perpetually engaged in 
traveling from the George and Vulture to Mr Perker’s cham- 
bers and back again, from and between the hours of nine 
o’clock in the morning and two in the afternoon, both inclusive. 
Not that there was anything whatever to be done, for the con- 
sultation had taken place, and the course of proceeding to be 
adopted, had been finally determined on, but Mr. Pick\\ick 
being in a most extreme state of excitement, persevered in 
constantly sending small notes to his attorney, merely contain- 
ing the inquiry, “ Dear Perker — Is all going on well ?” to which 
Mr. Perker invariably forwarded the reply, “ Dear Pickwick — 
As well as possible the fact being as we have already hinted 
that there was nothing whatever to go on, either well or ill, 
until the sitting of the court on the following morning. 

But people who go voluntarily to law, or are taken forcibly 
there, for the first time, may be allowed to labor under some 
temporary irritation and anxiety ; and Sam, with a due allow- 
ance for the frailties of human nature, obeyed ail his master’s 
behests with that imperturbable good humor and unruffable 
composure, which formed one of his most striking and amiable 
characteristics. 

Sam had solaced himself with a most agreeable little dinq^^ 
and was waiting at the bar for the glass of warm mixtur^;^ 

( 501 ) 


602 


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which Mr. Pickwick had requested him to drown the fatigues 
of his morning’s walks, when a young boy of about three feet 
high, or thereabouts, in a hairy cap and fustian overalls, whose 
garb bespoke a laudable ambition to attain in time the eleva- 
tion of an hostler, entered the passage of the George and Vul- 
t ire, and looked first up the stairs, and then along the passage, 
and then into the bar, as if in search of somebody to w'hom he 
bore a commission ; whereupon the barmaid, conceiving it not 
improbable that the said commission might be directed to the 
tea or table spoons of the establishment, accosted the boy with 

“ Now, young man, what do you want ?” 

“Is there anybody here, named Sam?” inquired the youth, 
in a loud voice of treble quality. 

“ What’s the t’other name ?” said Sam Weller, looking round. 

“ How should I know ?” briskly replied the young gentle- 
man below the hairy cap. 

“You’re a sharp boy, you are,” said Mr. Weller; “only I 
wouldn’t show that wery fine edge too much, if I was you, in 
case anybody took it off. What do you mean by cornin’ to a 
hot-el, and asking arter Sam, vith as much politeness as a vild 
Indian ?” 

“ ’Cos an old gen’lm’n told me to,” replied the boy. 

“ What old gen’lm’n ?” inquired Sam, with deep disdam. 

“ Him as drives a Ipswich coach, and uses our parlor,’^ 
rejoined the boy. “ He told me yesterday mornin’ to come tc 
the George in Wultur this arternoon, and ask for Sam.” 

“ Its my father, my dear,” said Mr. Weller, turning with ac 
explanatory air to the^ young lady in the bar ; “ blessed if I 
think he hardly knows wot my other name is. Veil, young 
brockiley sprout, wot then ?” 

“ Why then,” said the boy, “ you wos to come to him at 
six o’clock to our ’ouse ’cos he wants to see you — Blue Boar, 
Leaden’all Markit. Shall I say you’re cornin’ ?” 

“You may wenture on that ’ere statement, Sir,” replied 
Sam. And thus empowered, the young gentleman walked 
away, awakening all the echoes in George Yard as he did so, 
with several chaste and extremely correct imitations of a 
drover’s whistle, delivered in a tone of peculiar richness and 
^lame. 


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608 


Mr. Weller having obtained leave of absence from Mr. 
Pickwick, who, in his then state of excitement and worry was 
by no means displeased at being left alone, set forth long before 
the appointed hour ; and having plenty of time at his disposal, 
sauntered down as far as the Mansion House, where he paused 
and contemplated, with a face of great calmness and philoso* 
phy, the numerous cads and drivers of short stages who 
assemble near that famous place of resort, to the great terroi 
and confusion of the old-lady population of these realms. 
Having loitered here, for half an hour or so, Mr. Weller 
turned, and began wending his way towards Leadenhall Mar- 
ket, through a variety of bye streets and courts. As he was 
sauntering away his spare time, and stopped to look at almost 
every object that met his gaze, it is by no means surprising 
that Mr. Weller should have paused before a small stationer’s 
and print-seller’s window ; but without further explanation it 
does appear surprising that his eyes should have no sooner 
rested on certain pictures which were exposed for sale therein, 
than he gave a sudden start, smote his right leg with great 
vehemence, and exclaimed with energy, “ If it hadn’t been for 
this, I should ha’ forgot all about it, till it wms too late I” 

The particular picture on w'hich Sam Weller’s eyes were 
fixed, as he said this, was a highly colored representation oi 
a couple of human hearts skew^ered together with an arrow, 
cooking before a cheerful fire, while a male and female cannibal 
in modern attire, the gentleman being clad in a blue coat and 
white trousers, and the lady in a deep red pelisse with a parasol 
of the same, w^ere approaching the meal with hungry eyes, up 
a serpentine gravel path leading thereunto. A decidedly in- 
delicate young gentleman, in a pair of wings and nothing else, 
was depicted as superintending the cooking ; a representation 
of the spire of the church in Langham Place appeared in the 
distance ; and the w^hole formed a “ valentine,” of which, as a 
written inscription in the window testified, there was a large 
assortment within, w^hich the shopkeeper pledged himself to 
dispose of to his countrymen generally, at the reduced rate of 
one and sixpence each. 

“I should ha’ forgot it; I should certainly ha’ forgot itl” 
said Sam; and so Saying, he at once Stepped into the sta* 


504 


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tioner’s shop, and requested to be served with a sheet of the 
best gilt-edged letter-paper, and a hard-nibbed pen which 
could be warranted not to splutter. These articles haring 
been promply supplied, he walked on direct towards Leaden- 
hall Market at a gool round pace, very different from his 
recent lingering one. Looking round him, he there beheld a 
sign-board on which the painter’s art had delineated something 
remotely resembling a cerulean elephant with an aquiline nose 
in lieu of trunk. Rightly conjecturing that this was the Blue 
Boar himself, he stepped into the house, and inquired concern- 
ing his parent. 

“ He won’t be here this three quarters of an hour or more,” 
said the young lady who superintended the domestic arrange- 
ments of the Blue Boar. 

“ Wery good, my dear,” replied Sam. “Let me have nine 
penn’orth o’ brandy and water luke, and the inkstand, will you, 
Miss ?” 

The brandy and water luke and the inkstand having been 
carried into the little parlor, and the young lady having care- 
fully flattened down the coals to prevent their blazing, and 
carried away the poker to preclude the possibility of the fire 
being stirred, without the full privity and concurrence of the 
Blue Boar being first had and obtained, Sam Weller sat him- 
self down in a box near the stove, and pulled out the sheet of 
gilt-edged letter-paper, and the hard-nibbed pen. Then, look- 
ing carefully at the pen to see that there were no hairs in it, 
and dusting down the table, so that there might be no crumbs 
of bread under the paper, Sam tucked up the cuffs of his coat, 
squared his elbows, and composed himself to write. 

To ladies and gentlemen who are not in the habit of devoting 
themselves practically to the science of penmanship, writing a 
letter is no very easy task, it being always considered necessary 
in such cases for the writer to recline his head on his left arm 
so as to place his eyes as nearly as possibly on a level with the 
paper, and while glancing sideways at the letters he is con- 
structing, to form with his tongue imaginary characters to 
correspond. These motions, although unquestionably of the 
greatest assistance to original composition, retard in some 
degree the progress of the writer, and Sam had unconsciously 


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50 $ 


been a full hour and a half writing words in small text, smear- 
ing out wrong letters with his little finger, and putting in 
new ones which required going over very often to render them 
visible through the old blots, when he was roused by the open- 
ing of the door and the entrance of his parent. 

“ Tell, Sammy,” said the father. 

“ Yell, my Prooshan Blue,” responded the son, laying down . 
his pen. “ WhaPs the last belletin about mother-in-law ?” 

“ Mrs. Teller passed a wery good night, but is uncomnaon 
perwerse, and unpleasant this mornin’ — ^^signed upon oath — 
Tony Teller, Esquire. That^s the last vun as was issued, 
Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller, untying his shawl. 

No better yet ?” inquired Sam. 

** All the symptoms aggerawated,” replied Mr. Weller, shak- 
ing his head. “ But wot’s that, you’re a doin’ of — pursuit of 
knowledge under difficulties — eh Sammy ?” 

I’ve done now,” said Sam, with slight embarrassment ; 
“I’ve been a writin.” 

“ So I see,” replied Mr. Weller. “ Not to any young ’ooman, 

I hope, Sammy.” 

“ Why it’s no use a sayin’ it ain’t,” replied Sam. “ It’s a 
walentine.” 

“A what I” exclaimed Mr. Weller, apparently horror-stricken 
by the word. 

“ A walentine,” replied Sam 

Samivel, Samivel,” said Mr. Weller, in reproachful accents, 

I didn’t think you’d ha’ done it. Arter the warnin’ you’re 
had o’ your father’s wicious propensities, arter all I’ve said to 
you upon this here wery subject j arter actiwally seein’ and 
bein’ in the company o’ your own mother-in-law, vich I should 
ha’ thought wos a moral lesson as no man could ever ha’ for- 
goUen to his dyiii’ day I I didn’t think you’d ha’ done it, 
Sammy, I didn’t think you’d ha’ done it.” These reflections 
were too much for the good old man He raised Sam’s tum- 
bler to his lips and drank off its contents. 

Wot’s the matter now 1” said Sam. 

“Nev’r mind, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller, “it’ll be a wery 
ao-onizin’ trial to me at my time of life, but I’m pretty tough, 
that^s vuu consolation, as the wery old turkey remarked when 


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the farmer said he wos afeerd he should be obliged to kill him 
for the London market.” 

“ Wot’ll be a trial ?” inquired Sam. 

“ To see you married, Sammy — to see you a dilluded wictim, 
and thinkin’ in your innocence that it’s all wery capital,” 
replied Mr. Weller. “ It’s a dreadful trial to a father’s feelin’s, 
that ’ere, Sammy.” 

“ Nonsense,” said Sam. “ I ain’t a goin’ to g( t married, don’t 
^bu fret yourself about that ; I know you’re a judge of these 
Hungs. Order in your pipe, and I’ll read you the letter 
—there.” 

We cannot distinctly say whether it was the prospect of the 
pipe, or the consolatory reflection that a fatal disposition to 
get married ran in the family and couldn’t be helped, which 
’klihcd Mr. Weller’s feelings, and caused his grief to subside. 
Ve should be rather disposed to say that the result was 
attained by combining the two sources of consolation, for he 
rej)eated the second in a low tone, very frequently ; ringing the 
bell meanwhile, to order in the first. lie then divested him- 
self pf his upper coat; and lighting the pipe and placing 
ftimself in front of the fire with his back towards it, so that he 
could feel its full heat, and recline against the mantel-piece at 
the same time, turned towards Sam, and, with a countenance 
greatly mollified by the softening influence of tobacco, re- 
quested him to “ fire away.” 

Sam dipped his pen into the ink to be ready for any correc- 
tions, and began with a very theatrical air — 

“ ‘ Lovely .’ ” 

“ Stop,” said Mr. Weller, ringing the bell. A double 
glass-o’ the invariable, my dear.” 

“ Very well, Sir,” replied the girl ; who with great quickness 
appeared, vanished, returned, and disappeared. 

“ They seem to know your ways here,” observed Sara. 

“ Yes,” replied his father, “ I’ve been here before, in my 
time. Go on, Sammy.” 

‘ ‘ Lovely oreetur,’ ” repeated Sam. 

“ ’Tain’t in poetry, is it ?” interposed the father. 

“No, no,” replied Sam. 

“ Werry glad to hear it,” said Mr. Weller. ** Poetry’s 


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V 

Tinnat^ral ; no man ever talked in poetry ’cept a beadle on boxin^ 
day, or Warren’s blackin’, or Rowland’s oil, or some o’ them 
low fellows ; never let yourself down to talk poetry, my boy 
Begin again, Sammy.” 

Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnity, and 
Sam once more commenced, and read as follows. 

“ ‘ Lovely creetur i feel myself a dammed’ — ” 

“ That ain’t proper,” said Mr. Weller, taking his pipe from 
his mouth. 

“No; it ain’t dammed,” observed Sam, holding the letter 
up to the light, “its ‘shamed,’ there’s blot there — ‘I feel 
myself ashamed.’ ” 

“ Werry good,” said Mr. Weller. “ Go on.” 

‘“Feel myself ashamed, and completely cir — ’ I forget 
wot this here word is,” said Sam, scratching his head with the 
pen, in vain attempts to remember. 

“ Why don’t you look at it, then ?” inquired Mr. Weller. 

“ So I am a lookin’ at it,” replied Sam, “ but there’s another 
blot ; here’s a ‘ c,’ and a ‘ i,’ and a ‘ d.’” 

“ Circumwented, p’raps,” suggested Mr. Weller. 

“ No it ain’t that,” said Sam, “ circumscribed, that’s it.” 

“ That ain’t as good a word as circumwented, Sammy,” said 
Mr. Weller gravely. 

“ Think not,” said Sam. 

“Nothin’ like it,” replied his father. 

“But don’t you think it means more ?” inquired Sam. 

“Veil, p’raps it is a more tenderer word,” said Mr. Weller, 
after a few moments’ reflection. “ Go on, Sammy.” 

“ ‘ Feel myself ashamed and completely circumscribed in a 
dressing of you, for you are a nice gal and nothin’ but it.’” 

“ That’s a werry pretty sentiment,” said the elder Mr. Weller, 
removing his pipe to make way for the remark. 

“Yes, I think it is rayther good,” observed Sam, highly 
flattered. 

‘ W"ot I like in that ’ere style of writin’,” said the elder Mr. 
Weller, “is, that there ain’t no callin’ names in it, — no Wenuses, 
nor nothin’ o’ that kind ; wot’s the good o’ callin’ a young 
ooman a Wenus or an angel, Sammy ?” 

“ Ah I what, indeed ?” replied Sam. 


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“You might jist as veil call her a griffin, or a uuicom, or a 
king’s arms at once, which is worry veil known to be a col-lec- 
tion o’ fabulous animals,” added Mr. Weller. 

“ Just as well,” replied Sam. 

“Drive on, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller 

Sam complied with the request, and pi oceeded as follows ; 
his father continuing to smoke, with a mixed expression of 
wisdom and complacency, which was particularly edifying. 

“ ‘ Afore I see you I thought all women was alike.’ ” 

“ So they are,” observed the elder Mr. Weller, parenthetically. 

“ ‘ But now’ continued Sam, ‘ now I find what a reg’lar soft- 
headed, ink-red’lous turnip I must ha’ been for there ain’t 
nobody like you though I like you better than nothin’ at all.’ 
I thought it best to make that rayther strong,” said Sam, 
looking up. 

Mr. AVeller nodded approvingly, and Sam resumed. 

“‘So I take the privilidge of the day, Mary, my dear — as 
the gen’lem’n in difficulties did, ven he valked out of a Sunday, 
to tell you that the first and only time I see you your likeness 
was took on my hart in much quicker time and brighter colors 
than ever a likeness was took by the profeel macheen (which, 
p’r’aps, you may have heerd on, Mary, my dear,) altho’ it does 
finish a portrait and puts the frame and glass on complete with 
a hook at the end to hang it up by and all in tivo minutes and 
a quarter.’” 

“ I am afeered that werges on the poetical, Sammy,” said 
Mr. Weller, dubiously. 

“No it don’t,” replied Sam, reading on very quickly, to avoid 
contesting the point. 

“ ‘ Except of me, Mary, my dear, as your walentine, and 
think over what I’ve said. — My dear Mary, I will now con- 
clude.’ That’s all,” said Sam. - 

“ That’s rayther a sudden pull up, ain’t it, Sammy ?” 
inquired Mr. Weller. 

“ Not a bit on it,” said Sam, “ she’ll vish there vos more, and 
that’s the great art o’ letter writiii’.” 

“Well,” said Mr. W^eller, “there’s somethin’ in that; and 1 
wish your mother-in-law ’ud only conduct her conwersation on 
the same gen-teel principle. Ain’t you a goin’ to sign it.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


609 


“That’s the difficulty,” said Sam; “I don’t know what (o 
sign it.” 

“ Sign it — Veller,” said the oldest surviving proprietor of 
that name. 

“ Won’t do,” said Sam. “ Never sign a walentine with your 
own name.” 

“Sign it ‘Pickvick,’ then,” said Mr. Weller; “its a wery 
good name, and a easy one to spell.” 

“ T!ie wery thing,” said Sam. I could end with a werse ; 
what do you think ?” 

“ I don’t like it, Sam,” rejoined Mr. Weller. “ I never know’d 
a respectable coachman as wrote poetry, ’cept one, as made an 
affectin’ copy o’ worses the night afore he wos hung for a high- 
way robbery and he wos only a Cambcrvell man, so even that’s 
no rule.” 

But Sam was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea that 
had occurred to him, so he signed the letter — 

“ Your love-sick 
Pickwick.” 

And having folded it, in a very intricate manner, squeezed a 
down-hill direction in one corner : “ To Mary, Housemaid, at 
I^Ir. Nupkins’s Mayor’s, Ipswich, Suffolk;” and put it into his 
pocket, wafered, and ready for the General Post. This im- 
portant business having been transacted, Mr. Weller the elder 
proceeded to open that, on which he had summoned his son. 

“ The first matter relates to your governor, Sammy,” said 
Mr. Weller. “ He’s a goin’ to be tried to-morrow, ain’t he ?” 

“The trials a cornin’ on,” replied Sam. 

“Yell,” said Mr. Weller, “Now I s’pose he’ll want to call 
some witnesses to speak to his character, or p’raps to prove a 
ulleybi. I’ve been a turnin the bus’ness over in my mind, and 
he may make his-self easy Sammy. I’ve got some friends as’Il 
do eitlier for him, but my adwice ’iid be this here — never mind 
the character, and stick to the alleybi. Nothing like a alleybi, 
Sammy, nothing.” Mr. Weller looked V017 profound as he 
delivered this legal opinion ; and burying his nose in hia 
tumbler, winked over the top thereof at his astonished son. 


610 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ Why, what do you mean said Sam ; “ you don^t think 
he’s a goin’ to be tried at the Old Bailey, do you ?” 

“ That ain’t no part of the present con-sideration, Sammy,” 
replied Mr. Weller. “Yerever he’s a goin’ to be tried, my 
boy, a alleybi’s the thing to get him oflf. Ye got Tom Yild- 
spark off that ’ere manslaughter, with a alleybi, ven all the big 
vigs to a man said as nothing couldn’t save him. And my 
’pinion is, Sammy, that if your governor don’t prove a alkybi, 
he’ll be what the Italians call reg’larly flummoxed, and that’s 
all about it. ” 

As the elder Mr. Weller entertained a firm and unalterable 
conviction that the Old Baily was the supreme court of judica- 
ture in this country, and that its rules and forms of proceeding 
regulated and controlled the practice of all other courts of 
justice whatsoever, he totally disregarded the assurances and 
arguments of his son, tending to show that the alibi was inad- 
missible ; and vehemently protested that Mr. Pickwick was 
being “ wictimised.” Finding that it was of no use to discuss 
the matter further, Sam changed the subject, and inquired what 
the second topic was, on which his revered parent v/ished to 
consult him. 

“ That’s a pint o’ domestic policy, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller. 

This here Stiggins — ” 

“ lled-nosed man ?” inquired Sam. 

“The wery same,” replied Mr. Weller. “This here red- 
nosed man, Sammy, wisits your mother-in-law vith a kindness 
and constancy as I never see equalled. He’s sitch a friend o’ 
the family, Sammy, that ven he’s avay from us, he can’t be 
comfortable unless he has somethin’ to remember us by.” 

“ And I’d give him somethin’ as ’ud turpentine and bees’-vax 
his memory for the next ten years or so, if I wos you,” inter 
posed Sam. 

“Stop a minute,” said Mr. Weller; “I wos a goin’ to say 
he always brings now, a flat bottle as holds about a pint and 
ahalf, and fills it vith the pine-apple rum afore he goes avay.” 

“ And empties it afore he comes back, I s’pose,” said Sam. 

“Clean I” replied Mr. Weller; “never leaves nothin’ in it 
but the cork and the smell ; trust him for that, Sammy. Now 
these here fellows, my boy, are a goin’, to-night, to get up the 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


611 

monthly meetin^ the Brick Lane Branch o’ the United Grand 
Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association. Your mother-in- 
law wos a goin’, Sammy, but she’s got the rheumatics, ana 
can’t ; and I, Sammy, — I’ve got the two tickets as wos sent 
her.” Mr. Weller communicated this secret with great glee, 
and winked so indefatigably after doing so, that Sam began to 
think he must have got the tic doloureux in his right eye-lid. * 

“ Well ?” said that young gentleman. 

‘‘Well,’’ continued his progenitor, looking round him very 
cautiously, “you and I’ll go, punctiwal to the time. The 
deputy shepherd won’t, Sammy; the deputy shepherd won’t.” 
Here Mr. Weller was seized with a paroxysm of chuckles, 
which gradually terminated in as near an approach to a choke, 
as an elderly gentleman can, with safety, sustain. 

“ Well, I never see sitch an old ghost in all my bom days,” 
exclaimed Sam, rubbing the old gentleman’s back, hard enough 
to set him on fire with the friction. “ What are you a laughin’ 
at, corpilence ?” 

“ Hush 1 Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, looking round him with 
increased caution, and speaking in a whisper : “ Two friends o’ 
mine, as works on the Oxford Road, and is up to all kinds o’ 
games, has got the deputy shepherd safe in tow, Sammy ; and 
ven he does come to the Ebenezer Junction, (vich he’s sure to 
do : for they’ll see him to the door, and shove him in if neces- 
sary) he’ll be as far gone in mm and water, as ever he wos at 
the Markis o’ Granby, Dorkin’, and that’s not sayin’ a little 
either.” And with this, Mr. Weller once more laughed im- 
moderately, and once more relapsed into a state of partial 
suffocation, in consequence. 

Nothing could have been more in accordance with Sam 
Weller’s feelings, than the projected exposure of the real pro- 
pensities and qualities of the red-nosed man ; and it being 
very near the appointed hour of meeting, the father and son 
t 4 )ok the way at once to Brick Lane : Sam not forgetting to 
drop his letter into a general post-office as they walked along. 

The monthly meetings of the Brick Lane Branch of the 
United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association, 
were held in a large room pleasantly and airily situated at the 
top of a safe and commodious ladder. The president was the 
33 


612 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


straight-walking Mr. Anthony Humra, a converted fireman, 
now a schoolmaster, and occasionally an itinerant preacher ; 
and the secretary was Mr. Jonas Mudge, chandler’s shop- 
keeper, an enthusiastic and disinterested vessel, who sold tea to 
members. Previous to the commencement of business, the 
ladies sat upon forms, and drank* tea, till such time as they 
considered it expedient to leave off ; and a large wooden 
money-box was conspicuously placed upon the green baize 
cloth of the business table, behind which the secretary stood,, 
and acknowledged, with a gracious smile, every addition to the 
rich vein of copper which lay concealed within. 

On this particular occasion the women drank tea to a most 
alarming extent; greatly to the horror of Mr. Weller, senior 
who, utterly regardless of all Sam’s admonitory nudgings, stared 
about him in every direction with the most undisguised aston- 
ishment. 

“Sammy,” whispered Mr. Weller, “if some o’ these here 
people don’t want tappin’ to-morrow mornin’, I ain’t your 
father, and that’s wot it is. Why, this here old lady next me 
is a drownin’ herself in tea.” 

“ Be quiet, can’t you ? ” murmured Sam. 

“ Sam,” whispered Mr. Weller, a moment afterwards in a 
tone of deep agitation, “ mark my vords, my boy ; if that ’ere 
secretary feller keeps on for only five minutes more, he’ll blow 
himself up with toast and water.” 

“ Well, let him, if he likes,” replied Sam ; “ it ain’t no bis’ness 
o’ yourn.” 

“ If this here lasts much longer, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, in 
the same low voice, “ I shall feel it my, duty as a human bein’ 
to rise and address the cheer. There’s a young ’oman on the 
next form but two, as has drank nine breakfast cups and a half ,* 
and she’s a swellin wisibly before my wery eyes.” 

There is little doubt that Mr. Weller would have carried his 
benevolent intentions into immediate execution, if a great noise, 
occasioned by putting up the cups and saucers, had not very 
fortunately announced that the tea-drinking was over. The 
crockery having been removed, the table with the green baize 
cover was carried out into the centre of the room, and the 
business of the evening was commenced by a little emphatic 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


51S 


man, with a bald head, and drab shorts, who suddenly rushed 
np the ladder, at the imminent peril of snapping the two lit Je 
’egs encased in the drab shorts, and said : 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I move our excellent brother, Mr 
Aiitliony Ilumm, into the chair.” 

The ladies waved a choice collection of pocket-handkerchiefs 
at this proposition ; and the impetuous little man literally 
moved Mr. Humm into the chair, by taking him by the shoul- 
ders and thrusting him into a mahogany frame which had once 
represented that article of furniture. The waving of handker- 
chiefs was renewed ; and Mr. Humm, who was a sleek white- 
faced man, in a perpetual perspiration, bowed meekly, to the 
great admiration of the females, and formally took his seat. 
Silence was then proclaimed by the little man in the drab shorts 
and Mr. Humm rose and said — that, with the permission of 
his Brick Lane Branch brothers and sisters, then and there 
present, the secretary would read the report of the Brick Lane 
Branch committee ; — a proposition which was again received 
with a demonstration of pocket-handkerchiefs. 

The secretary having sneezed in a very impressive manner, 
and the cough which always seizes an assembly, when anything 
particular is going to be done, having been duly performed, the 
following report was read. 

* REPORT or THE COMMITTEE OF THE BRICK LANE BRANCH OP 

THE UNITED GRAND JUNCTION EBENEZER TEMPERANCE ASSO- 
CIATION.” 

“Your committee have pursued their grateful labors during 
the past month, and have the unspeakable pleasure of reporting 
the following additional cases of converts to temperance. 

“ H. Walker, tailor, wife, and two children. When in better 
circumstances, owns to having been in the constant habit of 
drinking ale and t)eer ; says he is not certain whether he did 
net twice a week, for twenty years taste ‘ dog’s .nose,’ which 
yoiir committee find upon inquiry, to be compounded of warm 
porter, moist sugar, giu and nutmeg (a groan, and ‘so it is,’ 
from an elderly female.) Is now out of work and pennyless; 
thinks it must be the porter (cheers) or the loss of the use of 


614 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


his right hand ; is not certain which, bnt thinks it very likely 
that, if he had drank nothing but water all his life, his fellow 
workman would never have stuck a rusty needle in him, and 
thereby occasioned his accident, (tremendous cheering.) lias 
nothing but cold water to drink, and never feels thirsty, (great 
applause.) 

“ Betsy Martin, widow, one child and one eye. Goes out 
charing and washing, by the day ; never had more than one eye, 
but knows her mother drank bottled stout, and shouldn’t wonder 
if that caused it. (immense cheering.) Thinks it not Impossible 
that if she had always abstained from spirits, she might have 
had two eyes by this time, (tremendous applause.) Used, at 
every place she went to, to have eighteen pence a day, a pint 
of porter, and a glass of spirits ; but since she became a member 
of the Brick Lane Branch, has always demanded three and six- 
pence instead, (the announcement of this most interesting fact 
was received with deafening enthusiasm.) 

“ Henry Beller was for many years toa.st-master at various 
corporation dinners, during which time he drank a great deal 
of foreign wine ; may sometimes have carried a bottle or two 
home with him ; is not quite certain of that, but is sure if he 
did, that he drank the contents. Feels very low and melan- 
choly, is veiy feverish, and has a constant thirst upon him ; 
thinks it must be the wine he used to drink, (cheers.) Is out 
of employ now ; and never tastes a drop of foreign wine by any 
chance, (tremendous plaudits.) 

“ Thomas Burton is purveyor of cat’s-meat to the Lord 
Mayor and Sheriffs, and several members of the Common 
Council, (the announcement of this gentleman’s mame was 
received with breathless interest,) Has a wooden leg ; finds a 
wooden leg expensive going over the stones ; used to weai 
second-hand wooden legs, and drink a glass of hot gin and 
water regularly every night — sometimes two, (deep sighs.) 
Found the second-hand wooden legs split and r<5t very quickly ; 
is firmly persuaded that their constitution was undermined by 
the gin and water, (prolonged cheering.) Buys new wooden- 
legs now, and drinks nothing but water and weak tea. The new 
legs last twice as long as the others used to do, and he altri- 
bites this solely to his temperate habits, (triumphant cheers.) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


615 


Anthony Humm now moved that the assembly do regale 
itself with a song. With a view to their rational and moral 
enjoyment, brother Mordlin had adapted the beautiful words 
of “ Who hasn’t heard of a Jolly Young Waterman ?” to the 
tune of the Old Hundredth, which he would request them to 
join him in singing (great applause). He might take that op- 
portunity of expressing his firm persuasion that the late Mr. 
Dibdin, seeing the errors of his former life, had UTitten that 
song to show the advantages of abstinence. It was a Tem- 
perance song (whirlwinds of cheers). The neatness of the 
interesting young man’s attire, the dexterity of his feathering, 
the enviable state of mind which enabled him, in the beautiful 
words of the poet, to 

“ Row along, thinking of nothing at all,'' 

all combined to prove that he must have been a water-drinker 
(cheers). Oh, what a state of virtuous jollity 1 (rapturous 
cheering). And what was the young man’s reward ? Let all 
young men present mark this : 

The maidens all flock'd to his boat so readily." 

(Loud cheers, in which the ladies joined.) What a bright 
example I The sisterhood, the maidens, flocking round the 
young waterman, and urging him along the path of duty and of 
temperance. But, was it the maidens of humble life only^ who 
soothed, consoled, and supported him ? No I 

" He was always first oars with the fine city ladies.’* 

(Immense cneering.) The soft sex to a man — he begged 
pardon, to a female — rallied round the young waterman, and 
turned with disgust from the drinker of spirits (cheers). The 
Brick Lane Branch brothers were watermen (cheers and laugh- 
ter). That room was their boat; that audience were the 
maidens ; and he (Mr. Anthony Humm,) however unworthily 
was “ first oars” (unbounded applause). 

“Wot does he mean by the soft sex, Sammy ?” inquired Mr. 
Weller, in a whisper. 

“ The womin,” said Sam, in the same tone. 


510 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ He ain’t far out there, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller; 
** they must be a soft sex, — a wery soft sex, indeed, if they let 
themselves be gammoned by such fellers as him.” 

Any farther observations from the indignant old gentleman 
were cut short by the commencement of the song, which Mr. 
Anthony Humm gave out, two lines at a time, for the informa- 
tion of such of his hearers as were unacquainted with the 
legend. While it was being sung, the little man with the drab 
shorts disappeared ; he returned immediately on its conclusion, 
and whispered Mr. Anthony Humm, with a face of the deepest 
importance. 

“ My friends,” said Mr. Humm, holding up his hand in a 
deprecatory manner, to bespeak the silence of such of the stout 
old ladies as were yet a line or two behind ; “ ray friends, a 
delegate from the Dorking branch of our society. Brother 
Stiggins, attends below.” 

Out came the pocket-handerchiefs again, in greater force 
than ever, for Mr. Stiggins was excessively popular among the 
female constituency of Brick Lane. 

“ He may approach I think,” said Mr. Humm, looking 
round him, with a fat smile. “ Brother Tadger, let him come 
forth and greet us.” 

The little man in the drab shorts who answered to the name 
of brother Tadger, bustled down the ladder with great speed, 
and was immediately afterwards heard tumbling up with the 
reverend Mr. Stiggins. 

“ He’s a cornin’, Sammy,” whispered Mr. Weller, purple in 
the countenance with suppressed laughter. 

“Don’t say nothin’ to me,” replied Sam, “for I can’t bear 
it. He’s close to the door. I hear him a-knockin’ his head 
again the lath and plaster now.” 

As Sam Weller spoke, the little door flew open, and brother 
Tadger appeared, closely followed by the reverend Mr. Stig- 
gins, who no sooner entered, then there was a great clapping 
of hands, and stamping of feet, and flourishing of handker- 
chiefs ; to all of which manifestations of delight, Brother Stig- 
gins returned no other acknowledgment than staring with a 
wild eye, and a fixed smile, at the extreme top of the wick of 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


617 


the candle on the table : swaying his body to and fro mean- 
while, in a very unsteady and uncertain manner. 

“ Are you unwell, brother Stiggins whispered Mr. Anthony 
Humm. 

“I am all right. Sir,” replied Mr. Stiggins, in a tone in 
which ferocity was blended with an extreme thickness of utter- 
ance ; “ I am all right. Sir.” 

“ Oh, very well,” rejoined Mr. Anthony Humm, retreating 
few paces. 

“ I believe no man here, has ventured to say that I am not 
all right. Sir,” said Mr. Stiggins. 

“ Oh, certainly not,” said Mr. Humm. 

should advise him not to, Sir; I should advise him not,” 
said Mr. Stiggins. 

By this time the audience were perfectly silent, and waited 
with some anxiety for the resumption of business. 

“ Will you address the meeting, brother ?” said Mr. Humm, 
with a smile of invitation. 

‘‘No, Sir,” rejoined Mr. Stiggins; “No, Sir. I will not, 
Sir.” 

The meeting looked at each other with raised eye-lids, and 
a murmur of astonishment ran through the room. 

“ It’s my opinion, Sir,” said Mr. Stiggins, unbuttoning his 
coat, and speaking very loudly ; “ it’s my opinion. Sir, that this 
meeting is drunk. Sir. Brother Tadger, Sir,” said Mr. Stiggins, 
suddenly increasing in ferocity, and turning sharp round on the 
little man in the drab shorts, “you are drunk. Sir.” With 
this, Mr. Stiggins, entertaining a praiseworthy desire to pro- 
mote the sobriety of the meeting, and to e.xclude therefrom all 
improper characters, hit brother Tadger on the summit of the 
nose with such unerring aim, that the drab shorts disappeared 
like a flash of lightning. Brother Tadger had been knocked, 
head first, down the ladder. 

Upon this, the women set up a loud and dismal screaming; 
and rushing in small parties before their favorite brothers, flung 
their arms around them to preserve them from danger. An 
instance of affection, which had nearly proved fatal to Humm, 
who, being extremely popular, was all but suffocated by the 
crowd of female devotees that hung about his neck, and heaped 


§13 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

caresses upon him ; the greater part of the lights were quicklj 
put out, and nothing but noise and confusion resounded on all 
sides. 

“Now Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, taking off his great coat 
with much deliberation, “just you step out, and fetch in a 
watchman.” 

“And wot are you goin’ to do, the while?” inquired Sam. 

. “Never you mind me, Sammy,” replied the old gentleman; 

I shall ockipy myself in havin’ a small settlement with that 
’ere Stiggins.” And before Sam could interfere to prevent it, 
his heroic parent had penetrated into a remote comer of the 
room, and attacked the reverend Mr. Stiggins with manual 
dexterity. 

“Come off,” said Sam. 

“ Come on,” cried Mr. Weller ; and without further invita- 
tion, he gave the reverend Mr. Stiggins a preliminary tap on 
the head, and began dancing round him in a buoyant and cork- 
like manner, which in a gentleman at his time of life was a 
perfect marvel to behold. 

Finding all remonstrances unavailing, Sam pulled his hat 
firmly on, threw his father’s coat over his arm, and taking the 
old man round the waist, forcibly dragged him down the ladder, 
and into the street ; never releasing his hold, or permitting him 
to stop, until they reached the corner. As they gained it, 
they could hear the shouts of the populace, who were witness- 
ing the removal of the reverend Mr. Stiggins to strong lodg- 
ings for the night, and hear the noise occasioned by the 
dispersion in various directions of the Members of the Brick 
Lane Branch of the United Grand Junction Ebenezer Tempe- 
rance Association. 


CHAPTER XXXy. 


IS WHOLLY DEVOTED TO A FULL AND FAITHFUL EEPORT OF THE 
KEMARKABLE TRIAL OF BARDELL AGAINST PICKWICK. 

“ I wonder what the foreman of the jury, whoever heUl be, 
has got for breakfast, said Mr. Snodgrass, by way of keeping 
up a conversation on the eventful morning of the fourteenth of 
February. 

“Ah 1^^ said Perker, “I hope he’s got a good one.” 

“ Why so ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Highly important — very important, my dear Sir,” replied 
Perker. “A good, contented, well-breakfasted juryman, is a 
capital thing to get hold of. Discontented or hungry jurymen, 
my dear Sir, always find for the plaintiff. ” 

“ Bless my heart,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking very blank ; 
what do they do that for ?” 

“Why, I don’t know,” replied the little man, coolly ; “saves 
time, I suppose. If it’s near dinner-time, the foreman takes 
out his watch when the jury have retired, and says, ‘ Dear me, 
gentlemen, ten minutes to five, I declare ! I dine at five, gen- 
tlemen.’ ‘ So do I,’ says every body else, except two men who 
ought to have dined at three, and seem more than half disposed 
to stand out in consequence. The foreman smiles, and puts up 
his watch ; — ‘ Well, gentlemen, what do we say T — plaintiff or 
defendant, gentlemen ? I rather think, so far as I am con- 
cerned, gentlemen, — I say, I rather think, — but don’t let that 
influence yon — I rather think the plaintiff’s the man.’ Upon 
this, two or three other men are sure to say that they think so 
too — as of course they do ; and then they get on very unani- 
mously and comfortably. Ten minutes past nine 1” said the 
little man, looking at his watch. “ Time we were off, my dear 
Sir ; breach of promise trial — court is generally full in such 
cases You had better ring for a coach, my dear Sir, or we 
ghall be rather late. ” 


520 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Mr. Pickwick immediately rang the bell, and a coach having 
been procured, the foar Pickwickiahs and Mr. Perker ensconced 
themselves therein, and drove to Guildhall ; Sam Weller, Mr. 
Lowten, and the blue bag, following in a cab. 

“ Lowten,” said Perker, when they reached the outer hall 
of the court, “ put Mr. Pickwick’s friends in the students’ box ; 
Mr. Pickwick himself had better sit by me. This way, my dear 
Sir, — this way;” and taking Mr. Pickwick by the coat sleeve, 
the little man led him to the low seat just beneath the desks 
of the King’s Counsel, which is constructed for the convenience 
of attorneys, who from that spot can whisper into the ear of 
the leading counsel in the case, any instructions that may be 
necessary during the progress of the trial. The occupants of 
this seat are invisible to the great body of spectators, inasmuch 
as they sit on a much lower level than either the barristers or 
the audience, whose seats are raised above the floor. Of course 
they have their backs to both, and their faces towards the judge. 

“ That’s the witness-box, I suppose ?” said Mr. Pickwick, 
pointing to a kind of pulpit, with a brass rail, on his left 
hand. 

“ That’s the witness-box, my dear Sir,” replied Perker, dis- 
interring a quantity of papers from the blue bag, which Low- 
ten had just deposited at his feet. 

“ And that,” said Mr. Pickwick, pointing to a couple of 
enclosed seats on his right, “that’s where the jurymen sit, is it 
not ?” 

“ The identical place, my dear Sir,” replied Perker, tapping 
the lid of his snuff-box. 

Mr. Pickwick stood up in a state of great agitation, and 
took a glance at the court. There were already a pretty large 
sprinkling of spectators in the gallery, and a numerous muster 
of gentlemen in wigs in the barristers’ seats, who presented, as 
a body, all that pleasing and extensive variety of nose and 
whisker for which the bar of England is so justly celebrated 
Such of the gentlemen as had got a brief to can-y, carried it 
in as conspicuous a manner as possible, and occasionally 
scratched their noses therewith, to impress the fact more 
Strongly on the observation of the spectators. Other gentle- 
men, who had no briefs to show, carried under their arms 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


621 


poodly octaTos, with a red label behind, and that nnder-done- 
pie-crust-colored cover, which is technically known as “ law 
calf ” Others, who had neither briefs nor books* thrust their 
hands into their pockets, and looked as wise as they conve* 
niently could ; while others, again, moved here and there with 
great restlessness and earnestness of manner, content to awaken 
thereby, the admiration and astonishment of the uninitiated 
Bt rangers. The whole, to the great wonderment of Mr. Pick- 
wick, were divided into little groups, who were chatting and 
discussing the news of the day in the most unfeeling manner 
possible — just as if no trial at all were coming on. 

A bow from Mr. Phunky, as he entered, and took his seat 
behind the row appropriated to the King’s Counsel, attracted 
Mr. Pickwick’s attention ; and he had scarcely returned it, 
when Mr. Sergeant Snubbin appeared, followed by Mr. Mal- 
lard, who half hid the sergeant behind a large crimson bag, 
which he placed on his table, and, after shaking hands with 
Perker, withdrew. Then there entered two or three more ser- 
geants, and among them, one with a fat body and a red face, 
who nodded in a friendly manner to Mr. Sergeant Snubbin, and 
said it was a fine morning. 

“ AVho’s that red-faced man, who said it was a fine morning, 
and nodded to our counsel ?” whispered Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Mr. Sergeant Bnzfuz,” replied Perker. “ lie’s opposed 
to us; he leads on the other side. That gentleman behind 
him, is Mr. Skimpin, his junior.” 

Mr. Pickwick was just on the point of inquiring, with great 
abhorrence of the man’s cold-blooded villainy, how Mr. Ser- 
geant Buzfuz, who was counsel for the opposite party, dared to 
presume to tell Mr. Sergeant Snubbin, who was counsel for 
him, that it was a fine morning — when he was interrupted by a 
general rising of the barristers, and a loud cry of “ Silence !” 
fiom the ofiBcers of the court. Looking round, he found that 
Ihis was caused by the entrance of the judge. 

Mr. Justice Stareleigh (who sat in the absence of the Chief 
Justice, occasioned by indisposition,) was a most particularly 
diort man. and so fat, that he seemed all face and waistcoat. 
He rolled in, upon two little turned legs, and having bobbed 
gravely to the bar, who bobbed gravely to him, put his little 


622 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


legs underneath his table, and his little three-cornered hat npon 
it ; and when Mr. J ustice Stareleigh had done this, all you 
could see of him was two* queer little eyes, one broad pink 
face, and somewhere about half of a big and very comical- 
looking wig. 

The judge had no sooner taken his seat, than the officer on 
the floor of the court called out “ Silence !” in a commanding 
tone, upon which another officer in the gallery cried “ Silence 
in an angry manner, whereupon three or four more ushers 
shouted “Silence!” in a voice of indignant remonstrance. 
This being done, a gentleman in black, who sat below the 
judge, proceeded to call over the names of the jury ; and after 
a great deal of bawling, it was discovered that only ten special 
jurymen were present. Upon this, Mr. Sergeant Buzfuz 
prayed a tales; the gentleman in black then proceeded to 
press into the special jury two of the common jurymen ; and a 
green-grocer and a chemist were caught directly. 

“Answer to your names, gentlemen, that you may be 
sworn,” said the gentleman in black. “Richard Upwiich.” 

“ Here,” said the green-grocer. 

“ Thomas Groffin.” 

“ Here, said the chemist. 

“ Take the book, gentlemen. You shall well and truly” — 

“I beg this court’s pardon,” said the chemist, who was a 
tall, thin, yellow-visaged man, “but I hope this court will 
excuse my attendance. 

“On what grounds. Sir?” said Mr. Justice Stareleigh. 

“ I have no assistant, my lord,” said the chemist. 

“I can’t help that, Sir, replied Mr. Justice Stareleigh. 
“You should hire one.” 

“ I can’t afford it, my lord,” rejoined the chemist. 

“Then you ought to be able to afford it. Sir,” said the 
judge, reddening; for Mr. Justice Stareleigh’s temper bor- 
dered on the irritable, and brooked not contradiction. 

“ I know I ought to, if I got on as well as I deserved, but 
I don’t, my lord,” answered the chemist. 

“ Swear the gentleman,” said the judge, peremptorily. 

The officer had got no further than the “ You shall well and 
truly try.” when he was again interrupted by the chemist. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


52 ^ 


“ I am to be sworn, my lord, am I said the chemist. 

“Certainly, Sir,” replied the testy little judge. 

“Yery well, my lord,” replied the chemist in a resigned 
manner. “ Then there’ll be murder before this trial’s over ; 
that’s all. Swear me, if you please. Sir and sworn the 
chemist was, before the judge could find words to utter. 

“I merely wanted to observe, my lord,” said the chemist, 
taking his seat with great deliberation, “ that I’ve left nobody 
but an errand-boy in my shop. He is a very nice boy, my lord, 
but he is not much acquainted with drugs ; and I know that 
the prevailing impression on his mind is, that Epsom salts 
means oxalic acid ; and syrup of senna, laudanum. That’s all, 
my lord.” With this, the tall chemist composed himself into a 
comfortable attitude, and, assuming a pleasant expression of 
countenance, appeared to have prepared himself for the worst. 

Mr. Pickwick was regarding the chemist with feelings of the 
deepest horror, when a slight sensation was perceptible in the 
body of the court ; and immediately afterwards Mrs. Bardell, 
supported by Mrs. Cluppins, was led in, and placed, in a 
drooping state, at the other end of the seat on which Mr. 
Pickwick sat. An extra sized umbrella was then handed in by 
Mr. Dodson, and a pair of pattens by Mr. Fogg, each of whom 
had prepared a most sympathising and melancholy face for the 
occasion. Mrs. Sanders then appeared, leading in Master 
Bardell. At sight of her child, Mrs. Bardell started ; suddenly 
recollecting herself, she kissed him in a frantic manner; and 
then relapsed into a state of hysterical imbecility, the good lady 
requested to be informed where she was. In reply to this, Mrs. 
Cluppins and Mrs Sanders turned their heads away and wept, 
while Messrs Dodson and Fogg intreated the plaintiff to com- 
pose herself. Sergeant Buzfuz rubbed his eyes very hard with a 
large white handkerchief, and gave an appealing look towards 
the jury, while the judge was visibly affected, and several of the 
beholders tried to cough down their emotions. 

“ Ycry good notion that, indeed,” whispered Perker to Mr. 
Pickwick. “ Capital fellows those, Dodson and Fogg ; excel- 
lent ideas of effect, my dear Sir, excellent.” 

As Perker spoke, Mrs. Bardell began to recover by slow 
degrees, while Mrs. Cluppins, after a careful survey of Master 


524 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


BardelPs buttons and the button-holes to which they severally 
belonged, placed him on the floor of the court in front of his 
mother, — a commanding position in which he could not fail to 
awaken the full commisseration and sympathy of both judge and 
jury. This was not done without considerable opposition, and 
many tears on the part of the young gentleman himself, who 
had certain inward misgivings that the placing him within the 
full glare of the judge’s eye was only a formal prelude to his 
being immediately ordered away for instant execution, or for 
transportation beyond the seas during the whole term of his 
natural life, at the very least. 

“ Bardell and Pickwick,” cried the gentleman in black, calling 
on the case, which stood first on the list. 

“I am for the plaintiff, my lord,” said Mr. Sergeant Buzfuz. 

“Who is with you, brother Buzfuz ?” said the judge. Mr. 
Skimpin bowed, to intimate that he was. 

“ I appear for the defendant, my lord, ” said Mr. Sergeant 
Snubbin. 

“Anybody with you, brother Snubbin ?” inquired the court. 

“Mr. Phunky, my lord,” replied Sergeant Snubbin. 

“Sergeant Buzfuz and Mr. Skimpin for the plaintiff,” said 
the judge, writing down the names in his note-book, and read- 
ing as he wrote ; “ for the defendant. Sergeant Snubbin and 
Mr. Monkey.” 

“ Beg your lordship’s pardon, Phunky.” 

“Oh, very good,” said the judge; “I never had the pleasure 
of hearing the gentleman’s name before.” Here Mr Phunky 
bowed and smiled, and the judge bowed and smiled too, and 
then Mr. Phunky, blushing into the very whites of his eyes, 
tried to look as if he didn’t know that everybody was gazing 
at him, a thing which no man ever succeded in doing yet, and 
in all reasonable probability, never will. 

“ Go on,” said the judge. 

The ushers again called silence, and Mr. Skimpin proceeded 
to “open the case and the case appeared to have very little 
inside it when he had opened it, for he kept such particulars’ 
as he knew, completely to himself, and sat down after a laj)se 
of three minutes, leaving the jury in precisely the same advanced 
stage of wisdom as they were in before. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


625 


Sergeant Buzfuz then rose with all the majesty and dignity 
which the grave nature of the proceedings demanded, and having 
whispered to Dodson, and conferred briefly with Fogg, pulled 
his gown over his shoulders, settled his wig, and addressed the 
jury. 

Sergeant Buzfuz began by saying, that never, in the whole 
course of his professional experience — never, from the very first 
moment of his applying himself to the study and practice of 
the law — had he approached a case with feelings of such deep 
emotion, or with such a heavy sense of the responsibility im- 
posed upon him — a responsibility, he would say which he could 
never have supported, were he not buoyed up and sustained by 
a conviction so strong, that it amounted to positive certainty 
that the cause of truth and justice, or, in other words, the 
cause of his much-injured and most oppressed client, must pre- 
vail with the high-minded and intelligent dozen of men whom 
he now saw in that box before him. 

Counsel always begin in this way, because it puts the jury 
on the very best terms with themselves, and makes them think 
what sharp fellows they must be. A visible elfect was produced 
immediately, several jurymen beginning to make voluminous 
notes with the utmost eagerness. 

^‘You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen,” — 
continued Sergeant Buzfuz, well knowing that, from the learned 
friend alluded to, the gentlemen of the jury had heard just 
nothing at all — “you have heard from my learned friend 
gentlemen, that this is an action for a breach of promise of 
marriage, in which the damages are laid at 1500Z. But you 
have not heard .from my learned friend, inasmuch as it did not 
come within my learned friend’s province to tell you, what are 
the facts and circumstances of the case. Those facts and cir- 
cumstances, gentlemen, you shall hear detailed by me, and 
proved ])y the unimpeachable female whom I will place in that 
box before you. 

Here Mr. Sergeant Buzfuz, with a tremendous emphasis on 
the word “box,” smote his table with a mighty sound, and 
glanced at Dodson and Fogg, who nodded admiration of the 
sergeant, and indignant defiance of the defendant. 

“ The plaintiff, gentlemen,” continued Sergeant Buzfuz, in a 


52G 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Boft and melancholy voice, “ the plaintiff is a widow ; yes, 
gentlemen, a widow. The late Mr. Bardell, after enjoying, for 
many years, the esteem and confidence of his sovereign, as one of 
the guardians of his royal revenues, glided almost imperceptibly 
from the world, to seek elsewhere for that repose and peace 
which a custom-house can never afford.” 

At this pathetic description of the decease of Mr. Bardell 
who had been knocked on the head with a quart-pot in a 
public-house cellar, the learned sergeant’s voice faltered, and 
be proceeded with great emotion — 

“ Sometime before his death, he had stamped his likeness 
upon a little boy With this little boy, the only pledge of her 
departed exciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrunk from the world, and 
courted the retirement and tranquility of Goswell-street ; and 
here she placed in her front parlor-window a written placard, 
bearing this inscription — ‘ Apartments furnished for a single 
gentleman. Enquire within.’ ” Here Sergeant Buzfuz paused, 
while several gentlemen of the jury took a note of the document 

“ There is no date to that, is there. Sir ?” inquired a juror. 

“ There is no date, gentlemen,” replied Sergeant Buzfuz ; 
^‘but I am instructed to say that it was put in the plaintiff’s 
parlor- window just this time three years. I entreat the atten- 
tion of the jury to the wording of this document — ‘ Apartments 
furnished for a single gentleman !’ Mrs. Bardell’s opinions of 
the opposite sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long contem- 
plation of the inestimable qualities of her lost husband. She 
had no fear — she had no distrust — she had no suspicion — all 
was confidence and reliance. ‘ Mr. Bardell,’ said the widow ; 

‘ Mr. Bardell was a man of honor — Mr. Bardell was a man of 
his word — Mr. Bardell was no deceiver — Mr. Bardell was 
once a single gentleman himself; to single gentlemen I look 
for protection, for assistance, for comfort, and for consolation 
— in single gentlemen I shall perpetually see something to 
rennnd me of what Mr. Bardell was, when he first won my 
young and untried affections ; to a single gentleman, then, shall 
my lodgings be let.’ Actuated by this beautiful and touching 
impulse, (among the best impulses of our imperfect nature, 
gentlemen,) the lonely and desolate widow dried her tears, 
furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy to her mater- 




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THE TRIAL. — Page 527 





THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


627 


nal bosom, and pnt the bill up in her parlor-window. Did it 
remain there long ? No. The serpent was on the watch, the 
train was laid, the mine was preparing, the sapper and miner 
was at work. Before the bill had been in the parlor-window 
three days — three days, gentlemen — a being, erect upon two 
legs, and bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and not 
of a monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell’s house, 
lie inquired within ; he took the lodgings ; and on the very 
next day he entered into possession of them This man was 
Pickwick — Pickwick, the defendant.” 

Sergeant Buzfuz, who had proceeded with such volubility 
that his face was perfectly crimson, here paused for breath. 
The silence awoke Mr. Justice Stareleigh, w’ho immediately 
wrote down something with a pen without any ink in it, and 
looked unusually profound, to impress the jury with the belief 
that he always thought most deeply with his eyes shut. Ser- 
geant Buzfuz proceeded. 

“ Of this man Pickwick I will say little ; the subject presents 
but few attractions ; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are 
you, gentlemen, the men, to delight in the contemplation of 
revolting heartlessness, and of systematic villany.” 

Here Mr. Pickwick, who had been writhing in silence for 
some time, gave a violent start, as if some vague idea of 
assaulting Sergeant Buzfuz, in the august presence of justice 
and law, suggested itself to his mind. An admonitory gesture 
from Perker restrained him, and he listened to the learned 
gentleman^s continuation with a look of indignation, which 
contrasted forcibly with the admiring faces of Mrs. Cluppins 
and Mrs. Sanders. 

“ I say systematic villany, gentlemen,” said Sergeant Buzfuz, 
looking through Mr. Pickwick, and talking at him ; “and when 
I say systematic villany, let me tell the defendant, Pickwuck if 
he be in court, as I am informed he is, that it w’ould have been 
more decent in him, more becoming, in better judgment and in 
better taste, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, gentle- 
men, that any gestures of dissent or disapprobation in w^hich 
he may indulge in this court will not go down with you ; that 
you will know how to value and how to appreciate them; and 
let me tell him further, as my lord will tell you, gentlemen, that 
34 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


ft counsel, in the discharge of his duty to his client, is neithet 
to be intimidated nor bullied, nor put down ; and that any 
attempt to do either the one or the other, or the first, or the 
last, will recoil on the head of the attempter, be he plaintiff or 
be he defendant, be his name Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, 
or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson.” 

This little divergence from the subject in hand, had of course 
the intended effect of turning all eyes to Mr. Pickwick. Ser- 
geant Buzfuz, having partially recovered from the state of 
moral elevation into which he had lashed himself, resumed — 

“ 1 shall show' you, gentlemen, that for two years Pickwick 
continued to reside constantly, and without interruption or 
intermission, at Mrs. Bardell’s house. I shall show you that 
Mrs. Bardell, during the wrhole of that time, waited on him, 
attended to his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his 
linen for the washerwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired, 
and prepared it for wear, when it came home ; and, in short, 
enjoyed his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show you that, 
on many occasions, he gave halfpence, and on some occasions 
even sixpences, to her little boy ; and I shall prove to yon, by 
a witness whose testimony it will be impossible for my learned 
friend to weaken or controvert, that on one occasion he patted 
the boy on the head, and, after inquiring whether he had w’on 
any alley tors or commoneys lately (both of which I understand 
to be a particular species of marbles much prized by the youth 
of this town,) made use of this remarkable expression — ‘ How 
should you like to have another father I shall prove to you 
farther, gentlemen, that about a year ago, Pickwick suddenly 
began to absent himself from home, during long intervals, as 
if with the intention of gradually breaking off from my client; 
but I shall show you also, that his resolution was not at that 
time sufficiently strong, or that his better feelings conquered, 
if better feelings he has— or that the charms and accom])lish- 
ments of my client prevailed over his unmanly intentions, by 
pu'ving to you, that on one occasion, wheii he returned from 
the country, he distinctly and in terras, offered her marriage ; 
previously, however, taking special care that there should be 
no witnesses to their solemn contract; and I am in a situation 
to prove to you, on the testimony of three of his own friends,-— 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


most unwilling witnesses, gentlemen — most unwilling witnesses 
— that on that morning he was discovered by them holding the 
plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation by his caresses 
and endearments.” 

A visible impression was produced upon the auditors by this 
part of the learned sergeant’s address. Drawing forth two 
very small scraps of paper, he proceeded — 

“And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters 
have passed between these parties, letters which are admitted 
to be in the handwriting of the defendant, and which speak 
volumes indeed. These letters, too, bespeak the character of 
the man. They are not open, fervent, eloquent epistles, breath- 
ing nothing but the language of affectionate attachment. They 
are covert, sly, underhanded communications, but, fortunately, 
far more conclusive than if couched in the most glowing lan- 
guage and the most poetic imagery — letters that must be 
viewed with a cautious and suspicious eye — ^letters that were 
evidently intended at the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and 
delude any third parties into whose hands they might fall. Let 
me read the first : — ‘ Garraway’s, twelve o’clock. Dear Mrs. 
B. — Chops and Tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick.’ Gentle- 
men, what does this mean ? Chops and Tomato sauce. Yours, 
Pickwick ! Chops I Gracious heavens I and Tomato sauce ! 
Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding female 
to be trifled away, by such shallow artifices as these ? The 
next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious. ‘ Dear 
Mrs. B., I shall not be at home till to-morrow. Slow coach.’ 
and then follows this very remarkable expression — ‘Don’t 
trouble yourself about the warming-pan.’ The warming-pan I 
Why, gentlemen, who does trouble himself about a w'arming- 
pan ? When was the peace of mind of man or woman broken 
or disturbed by a warming-pan, which is in itself a harmless, a 
useful, and I will add, gentlemen, a comforting article of 
domestic furniture ? Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly 
entreated not to agitate herself about this warming-pan, unless 
(as is no doubt the case) it is a mere cover for a hidden fire — 
a mere substitute for some endearing word or promise, agree- 
ably to a preconcerted system of correspondence, artfully con- 
trived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated desertion. 


680 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


and which- 1 am not in a condition to explain ? And what 
does this allusion to a slow coach mean ? For aught I know, 
it may be a reference to Pickwick himself, who has most 
unquestionably been a criminally slow coach during the whole 
of this transaction, but whose speed will now be very unex- 
pectedly accelerated, and whose wheels, gentlemen, as he will 
find to his cost, will very soon be greased by you I’’ 

Mr. Sergeant Buzfuz paused in this place, to see whether the 
jury smiled at his joke ; but as nobody took it but the green 
grocer, whose sensitiveness on the subject was very probably 
occasioned by his having subjected a chaise-cart to the process 
in question on that identical morning, the learned sergeant con- 
sidered it advisable to undergo a slight relapse into the dismals 
before he concluded. 

“ But enough of this, gentlemen,” said Mr. Sergeant Buzfuz, 
it is difficult to smile with an aching heart ; it is ill jesting 
when our deepest sympathies are awakened. My client^s hopes 
and prospects are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say 
that her occupation is gone indeed. The bill is down — but 
there is no tenant. Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass — 
but there is no invitation for them to enquire within, or without. 
All is gloom and silence in the house ; even the voice of the 
child is hushed ; his infant sports are disregarded when his 
mother weeps ; his ‘ alley tors’ and his ‘ commoneys’ are alike 
neglected ; he forgets the long familiar cry of ‘knuckle down,* 
and at tip-cheese, or odd and even, his hand is out But Pick- 
wick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domes- 
tic oasis in the desert of Goswell-street — Pickwick, who has 
choaked up the well, and thrown ashes on the sward — Pick- 
wick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomata 
sauce and warming pans — Pickwick still rears his head with 
unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he 
has made. Damages, gentlemen — heavy damages is the only 
punishment with which you can visit him ; the only recompense 
you can award to ray client. And for those damages she now 
appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-feeling, a 
conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a contemplative 
jury of her civilized countrymen.” With this beautiful perora- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


581 


tion, Mr. Sergeant Buzfiiz sat down, and Mr. Justice Stareleigh 
woke up 

“ Call Elizabeth Cluppins,’^ said Sergeant Buzfuz, rising a 
minute afterwards, with renewed vigor. 

The nearest usher called for Elizabeth Tuppins ; another 
one, at a little distance off, demanded Elizabeth Jupkins ; and 
a third rushed in a breathless state into King-street, and 
screamed for Elizabeth Muffins till he was hoarse. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Cluppins, with the combined assistance of 
Mrs. Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, Mr. Dodson and Mr. Fogg, was 
hoisted into the witness-box ; and when she was safely perched 
on the top step, Mrs. Bardell stood on the bottom one, with 
the pocket-handkerchief and pattens in one hand, and a glass 
bottle, that might hold about a quarter of a pint of smelling 
salts, in the other, ready for any emergency. Mrs. Sanders, 
whose eyes were intently fixed on the judge’s face, planted her- 
self close by, with the large umbrella ; keeping her right thumb 
pressed on the spring, with an earnest countenance, as if she 
were fully prepared to put it up at a moment’s notice. 

“Mrs. Cluppins,” said Sergeant Buzfuz, “pray compose 
yourself, ma’am and, of course, directly Mrs. Cluppins was 
desired to compose herself, she sobbed with increased vehe- 
mence, and gave divers alarming manifestations of an approach- 
ing fainting fit, or, as she afterwards said, of her feelings being 
too many for her. 

“ Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins ?” said Sergeant Buzfuz, 
after a few unimportant questions — “ do you recollect being in 
Mrs. Bardell’s back one pair of stairs, on one particular morn- 
ing in July last, when she was dusting Mr. Pickwick’s apart- 
ment ?” 

“Yes, my lord and jury, I do,” replied Mrs. Cluppins. 

“ Mr. Pickwick’s sitting-room was the first-floor front I 
believe 

“Yes, it were, Sir,” replied Mrs. Cluppins. 

“ What were you doing in the back room, ma’am ? ” inquired 
the little judge 

“ My lord and jury,” said Mrs. Cluppins, with interesting 
agitation, “I will not deceive you.” 

** You hud better not, ma’am,” said the little judge. 


682 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** I was tfiere,’^ resumed Mrs. Cluppins, “ unbeknown to Mrs. 
Bardell ; I had been out with a little basket, gentlemen to buy 
three pound of red kidney pertaties, which was three pound 
tuppence ha’penny, when I see Mrs. Barnell’s street door on 
the jar.” 

“ On the what ?” exclaimed the little judge. 

“ Partly open, my lord,” said Sergeant Snubbin. 

“ She said on the jar,” said the little judge, with a cunning 
look. 

‘‘ It’s all the same, my lord,” said Sergeant Snubbin. The 
little judge looked doubtful, and said he’d make a note of it. 
Mrs. Cluppins then resumed — 

“I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good raomin’, and went 
in a promiscuous manner up stairs, and into the back room. 
Gentlemen, there was the sound of voices in the front room, 
and — ” 

“And you listened, I believe, Mrs. Cluppins,” said Ser- 
geant Buzfuz. 

“ Beggin’, your pardon. Sir,” replied Mrs. Cluppins, in a 
majestic manner, “ I would scorn the haction. The voices was 
very loud. Sir, and forced themselves upon my ear.” 

“ Well, Mrs. Cluppins, you were not listening, but you heard 
the voices. Was one of tho.se voices Mr. Pickwick’s?” 

“ Yes, it were, Sir.” 

And Mrs. Cluppins, after distinctly stating that Mr. Pick- 
wick addressed himself to Mrs. Bardell, repeated by slow 
degrees, and by dint of many questions, the conversation with 
which our readers are already acquainted. 

The jury looked suspicious, and Mr. Sergeant Buzfuz smiled 
and sat down. They looked positively awful when Sergeant 
Snubbin intimated that he should not cross-examine the witness, 
for Mr. Pickwick wished it to be distinctly stated that it was 
due to her to say, that her account was in substance correct. 

Mrs. Cluppins having once broken the ice, thought it a very 
favourable opportunity of entering into a short dissertation on 
her own domestic affairs ; so she straight way proceeded to inform 
the court that she was the mother of eight children at that 
present speaking, and that she entertained confident expecta- 
tions of presenting Mr Cluppins with a ninth, somewhere 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


633 


about that day six months. At this interesting point, the littlo 
judge interposed most irascibly ; and the effect of the interpo- 
sition was, that both the worthy lady and Mrs. Sanders were 
politely taken out of court, under the escort of Mr. Jackson, 
without farther parley. 

‘‘Nathaniel Winkle,’^ said Mr. Skirapin. 

“ Here I ” replied a feeble voice. And Mr. Winkle entered 
the witness-box, and having been duly sworn, bowed to tho 
judge with considerable deference. 

“ Don’t look at me, Sir,” said the judge, sharply, in acknow- 
ledgment of the salute; “look at the jury.” 

Mr. Winkle obeyed the mandate, and looked at the place 
where he thought it most probable the jury might be ; for 
seeing anything in his then state of intellectual complication 
was wholly out of the question. 

Mr. Winkle was then examined by Mr. Skimpin, who, being 
a promising young man of two or three and forty, was of course 
anxious to confuse a witness who was notoriously predisposed 
in favor of the other side, as much as he could. 

“ Now, Sir,” said Mr. Skimpin, “ have the goodness to let 
his lordship and the jury know what your name is, will you ?” 
And Mr. Skimpin inclined his head on one side to listen with 
great sharpness to the answer, and glanced at the jury mean- 
while, as if to imply that he rather expected Mr. Winkle’s 
natural taste for perjury would induce him to give some name 
which did not belong to him. 

“ Winkle,” replied the witness. 

“ What’s your Christian name, Sir ? ” angrily inquired tho 
little judge. 

“Nathaniel, Sir.” 

“ Daniel, — any other name ?” 

“Nathaniel, Sir — my lord, I mean.” 

“Nathaniel Daniel, or Daniel Nathaniel ?” 

“No, my lord only Nathaniel — not Daniel at all.” 

“ What did you tell me it was Daniel for, then. Sir ? ” in- 
quired the judge. 

“ I didn’t my lord,” replied Mr. Winkle. 

“You did. Sir,” replied the judge, with a severe frown. 
“ How could I have got Daniel on my notes, unless you told 
me so, Sir ? ” 


84 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


This ar^timent was of course unanswerable 

“ Mr. Winkle has rather a short memory, my lord,^^ inter- 
posed Mr. Skimpin, with another glance at the jury. “We 
shall find means to refresh it before we have quite done with 
him, I dare say.’^ 

“ You had better be careful, Sir,” said the little judge with 
a sinister look at the witness. 

Poor Mr. Winkle bowed, and endeavoured to feign an easi- 
ness of manner which, in his then state of confusion, gave him 
rather the air of a disconcerted pickpocket. 

“Now, Mr. Winkle,” said Mr. Skimpin, “attend to me, if 
you please. Sir; and let me recommend you, for your own sake, 
to bear in mind his lordship’s injunctions to be careful. I 
believe you are a particular friend of Mr. Pickwick, the defend- 
ant, are you not ? ” 

“ I have known Mr. Pickwick now, as well as I recollect at 
this moment, nearly — ” 

“Pray, Mr. Winkle, do not evade the question. Are you, 
or are you not, a particular friend of the defendant’s ? ” 

“ I was just about to say, that — ” 

“ Will you, or will you not, answer my question. Sir ?” 

“ If you don’t answer the question, you’ll be committed, 
Sir,” interposed the little judge, looking over his note-book. 

“ Come, Sir,” said Mr. Skimpin, “yes or no, if you please.” 

“Yes, I am,” replied Mr. Winkle. 

“Yes, you are. And why couldn’t you say that at once. 
Sir ? Perhaps you know the plaintiff too — eh, Mr. Winkle ?” 

“ I don’t know her ; I’ve seen her.” 

“Oh, you don’t know her, but you’ve seen her? Now, have 
the goodness to tell the gentlemen of the jury what you mean 
by that, Mr. Winkle.” 

“ I mean that I am not intimate with her, but that I have 
seen her when I went to call on Mr. Pickwick, in Gosw ell- 
street.” 

“ llow often have you seen her. Sir ?” 

“ How often ?” 

“Yes, Mr. Winkle, how often ? I’ll repeat the question for 
you a dozen times, if you require it. Sir.” And the learned 
gentleman, with a firm and steady frown, placed bis bands on 
his hips, nnd smilcl to the jury. 


TffE PTTJK’WrCTK 


6^ 


On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating, cus- 
tomary on such points. First of all, Mr. Winkle said it was 
quite impossible for him to say how many times he had seen 
Mrs. Bardell. Then he was asked if he had seen her twenty 
times, to which he replied, “Certainly, — more than that.” 
And then he was asked whether he hadn’t seen her a hundred 
times — whether he couldn’t swear that he had seen her more 
than fifty times — whether he didn’t know that he had seen her 
at least seventy-five times, and so forth ; the satisfactory con- 
clusion which was arrived at, at last, being — that he had better 
take care of himself, and mind what he was about. The wit- 
ness having been by these means reduced to the requisite ebb of 
nervous perplexity, the examination was continued as follows — 

“ Pray, Mr. Winkle, do you remember calling on the de- 
fendant Pickwick at these apartments in the plaintiff’s house in 
Goswell-street, on one particular morning, in the month of 
July last ?” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Were you accompanied on that occasion by a friend of the 
name of Tupman, and another of the name of Snodgrass ?” 

“ Yes, I was 

“ Are they here ?” 

“ Yes, they are” — replied Mr. Winkle, looking very earnestly 
towards the spot where his friends were stationed. 

“Pray attend to me, Mr. Winkle, and never mind your 
friends” — said Mr. Skimpin, with another expressive look at 
the jury. “ They must tell their stories without any previous 
consultation with you, if none has yet taken place (another 
look at the jury). Now, Sir, tell the gentlemen of the jury 
what you saw on entering the defendant’s room, on this par 
ticular morning. Come ; out with it. Sir ; we must have it 
sooner or later.” 

“ The defendant, Mr. Pickwick, was holding the plaintiff in 
his arms, with his hands clasping her waist.” replied Mr. 
Winkle with natural hesitation, “ and the plaintiff appeared to 
have fainted away.” 

“ Did you hear the defendant say anything ?” 

“ I heard him call Mrs. Bardell a good creature, and I heard 
him ask her to compose herself, for what a situation it was, if 
any body should com#', or worrlq to that olffrct ’* 


530 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** Now, Mr. Winkle, I have only one more question to ask 
you, and I beg you t3 bear in mind his lordship’s caution. 
Will you undertake to swear that Pickwick, the defendant, did 
not say on the occasion in question — ‘My dear Mrs. Pardell, 
you’re a good creature ; compose yourself to this situation, for 
to this situation you must come, or words to that effect ?’ ” 

“ I — 1 didn’t understand him so, certainly,” said Mr. Winkle, 
astounded at this ingenious dove-tailing of the few words he 
had heard. “I was on the staircase, and couldn’t hear dis- 
tinctly ; the impression on my mind is — ” 

“ The gentlemen of the jury want none of the impressions on 
your mind, Mr. Winkle, which I fear would be of little service 
to honest, straight-forward men,” interposed Mr. Skimpin. 
“You were on the staircase, and didn’t distinctly hear; but 
you will not swear th.At Pickwick did not make use of the ex- 
pressions I have quoted ? Do I understand that ?” 

“ No I will not,” replied Mr. Winkle ; and down sat Mr. 
Skimpin with a triumphant countenance. 

Mr. Pickwick’s case had not gone off in so particularly 
happy a manner, up to this point, that it could very well afford 
to have any additional suspicion cast upon it. But as it could 
afford to be placed in a rather better light, if possible, Mr. 
Phuiiky rose for the purpose of getting something important 
out of Mr. Winkle in cross-examination. Whether he did get 
anything important out of him, will immediately appear. 

“I believe, Mr. Winkle,” said Mr. Phunky, “ that Mr. Pick- 
wick is not a young man ?” 

“Oh no,” replied Mr. Winkle; “old enough to be my 
father ?” 

“You have told my learned friend that you have known Mr. 
Pickwick a long time. Had you ever any reason to suppose 
or believe that he was about to be married ?” 

“Oh no; certainiy noi;;” replied Mr. Winkle with so much 
eagerness, that Mr. Phuuky ought to have got him out of the 
box with all possible dispatch. Lawyers hold that there are 
two kinds of particularly bad witnesses, a reluctant witness, 
and a too willing witness ; it was Mr. Winkle’s fate to figure 
in both characters. 

“ I will even go further than this, Mr. Winkle,” continuod 


587 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

Mr. Phunky in a most smooth and complacent manner. “ Did 
you ever see any thing in Mr. Pickwick’s manner and conduct 
towards the opposite sex to induce you to believe that he ever 
contemplated matrimony of late years, in any case ?” 

“ Oh no ; certainly not,” replied Mr. Winkle. 

“ lias his behavior, when females have been in the case, 
always been that of a man, who, having attained a pretty 
advanced period of life, content with his own occupations and 
amusements, treats them only as a father might his daughters ?” 

“ Not the least doubt of it,” replied Mr. Winkle, in the ful- 
ness of his heart. “ That is — yes — oh yes — certainly.” 

“ You have never known any thing in his behavior towards 
Mrs. Bardell, or any other female, in the least degree suspi- 
cious ?” said Mr. Phunkey, preparing to sit down, for Ser- 
geant Snubbins was winking at him. 

<‘N — n — no,” replied Mr. Winkle, “except on one trifling 
occasion, which, I have no doubt, might be easily explained.” 

Now, if the unfortunate Mr. Phunkey had sat down when 
Sergeant Snubbins winked at him, or if Sergeant Buzfuz had 
stopped this irregular cross-examination at the outset (which 
he knew better than to do ; observing Mr. Winkle’s anxiety, 
and well knowing it would, in all probabity, lead to something 
serviceable to him,) this unfortunate admission would not have 
been elicited. The moment the words fell from Mr. Winkle’s 
lips, Mr. Phunkey sat down, and Sergeant Snubbin rather 
hastily told him he might leave the box, which Mr. Winkle 
prepared to do with great readiness, when Sergeant Buzfuz 
stopped him. 

“Stay, Mr. Winkle — stay,” said Sergeant Buzfuz, “will 
your lordship have the goodness to ask him, what this one 
instance of suspicious behavior towards females on the part of 
til is gentleman, who is old enough to be his father, was ?” 

“ You hear what the learned counsel says, Sir,” o])served 
the judge, turning to the miserable and agonized Mr. AVinkle. 
“Describe the occasion to which you refer.” 

“ My lord,” said Mr. Winkle, trembling with anxiety. “I — 
I’d rather not.” 

“Perhaps so,” said the little judge; “but you must.” 

Amid the profound silence of the whole court, Mr. Winkle fal- 


688 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


tered out, that the trifling circumstance of suspicion was Mr Pick- 
wick’s being found in a lady’s sleeping apartment at midnight, 
which had terminated, he believed, in the breaking off of the 
projected marriage of the lady in question, and led, he knew, to 
the whole party being forcibly carried before George Nupkins, 
Esq., magistrate and justice of the peace, for the borough of 
Ipswich ?” 

“You may leave the box, Sir,” said Sergeant Snubbin. 
Mr. Winkle did leave the box, and rushed with delirous haste 
to the George and Vulture, where he was discovered some 
hours after, by the waiter, groaning in a hollow and dismal 
manner, with his head buried beneath the soft cushions. 

Tracy Tupman and Augustus Snodgrass, were severally 
called into the box ; both corroborated the testimony of their 
unhappy friend ; and each was driven to the verge of despera- 
ration by excessive badgering. 

Susannah Sanders was then called, and examined by Ser- 
geant Buzfuz, and cross-examined by Sergeant Snubbin. Had 
always said and believed that Mr. Pickwick would marry Mrs. 
Bardell ; knew that Mrs. Bardell’s being engaged to Mr. Pick- 
wick was the current topic of conversation in the neighborhood, 
after the fainting in July; had been told it herself by Mrs. 
Mudberry which kept a mangle, and Mrs. Bunkin which clear- 
starched, but did not see either Mudberry or Mrs. Bunkin in 
court. Had heard Mr. Pickwick ask the little boy how he 
should like to have another father. Did not know that Mrs. 
Bardell was at that time keeping company with the baker, but 
did know that the baker was then a single man and is now 
married. Couldn’t swear that Mrs. Bardell was not very fond 
of the baker, but should think that the baker was not very fond 
of Mrs. Bardell, or he wouldn’t have married somebody else. 
Thought Mrs. Bardell fainted away on the morning in July, 
because Mr. Pickwick asked her to name the day ; knew that 
she (witness) fainted away stone dead when Mr. Sanders asked 
her to name the day, and believed every body as called herself 
a lady would do the same, under similar circumstances. Heard 
Mr. Pickwick ask the boy the question about the marbles, but 
upon her oath did not know the difference between an alley tor 
and a commoney 


THE PICKWICK PAPEBS. 


bHSi 

By the Court — During the period of her keeping company 
with Mr. Sanders had received love-letters, like other ladies. 
In the course of their correspondence Mr. Sanders had often 
called her a “duck,” but never “chops,” or “tomato sauce.” 
lie was particularly fond of ducks. Perhaps if he had been 
as fond of chops and tomato sauce, he might have called her 
that, as a term of affection. 

Sergeant Buzfuz now rose with more importance than he had 
yet exhibited, if that were possible, and vociferated, “call 
Samuel Weller.” 

It was quite unnecessary to call Samuel Weller, for Samuel 
Weller stepped briskly into the box the instant his name was 
pronounced ; and placing his hat on the floor, and his arms on 
the rail, took a bird’s-eye view of the bar, and a comprehensive 
survey of the bench with a remarkably cheerful and lively aspect, 

“What’s your name. Sir?” inquired the judge. 

“Sam Weller, my lord,” replied that gentleman. 

“ Do you spell it with a ‘ Y’ or a ‘ W ?”’ inquired the judge. 

“That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my 
lord,” replied Sam, “ I never had occasion to spell it more 
than once or twice in my life, but I spells it with a ‘ Y.”’ 

Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, “ Quite right 
too, Samivel ; quite right. Put it down a we, my lord, put it 
down a we.” 

“ Who is that that dares to address the court ?” said the 
little judge, looking up, “Usher.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“Bring that person here instantly.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

But as the usher didn’t find the person, he didn’t bring him ; 
and, after a great commotion, all the people who had got up 
to look for the culprit, sat down again. The little judge 
turned to the witness as soon as his indignation would allow 
him to speak, and said — 

“ Do you know who that was. Sir ?” 

“I rather suspect it was my father, my lord,” replud Sam. 

“ Do you see him here now ?” said the judge. 

“No, I don’t, my Lord,” replied Sam, staring right up into 
the lantern in the roof of the Court. 


540 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


*‘If you could have pointed him out, I would have com 
mitted him instantly,” said the judge. Sam bowed his 
acknowledgments and turned, with unimpaired cheerfulness of 
countenance, towards Sergeant Buzfuz. 

‘‘Now, Mr. Weller,” said Sergeant Buzfuz. 

“Now, Sir,” replied Sam. 

“I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the 
defendant in this case. Speak up, if you please, Mr. Weller.” 

“I mean to speak up, Sir,” replied Sam, “I am in the ser- 
vice o’ that ’ere gen’Pman, and a wery good service it is.” 

“ Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose ?” said Sergeant 
Buzfuz, with jocularity. 

“ Oh, quite enough to get. Sir, as the soldier said ven they 
ordered him three hundred and fifty lashes,” replied Sara. 

“ You must not tell us what the soldier, or any other man 
said, Sir,’’ interposed the judge, “it’s not evidence.” 

“Wery good, my lord,” replied Sara. 

“Do you recollect anything particular happening on the 
morning when you were first engaged by the defendant, eh, Mr. 
Weller?” said Sergeant Buzfuz. 

“Yes I do. Sir,” replied Sara. 

“ Have the goodness to tell the jury what it was.” 

“ I had a reg’lar new fit out o’ clothes that mornin’, gen’l’men 
of the jury,” said Sam, “and that was a wery particler and un- 
common circumstance vith me in those days.” 

Hereupon there was a general laugh ; and the little judge, 
looking with an angry countenance over his desk, said, “You 
had better be careful. Sir.” 

“ So Mr. Pickwick said at the time, my lord,’^ replied Sara, 
“ and I was wery careful o’ that ’ere suit o’ clothes ; wery care- 
ful indeed, my lord.” 

The judge looked sternly at Sam for full two minutes, but 
Sam’s features were so perfectly calm and serene that he said 
nothing, and motioned Sergeant Buzfuz to proceed. 

“ Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller,” said Sergeant Bu3- 
fuz, folding his arms emphatically, and turning naif round tc 
the jury, as if in mute assurance that he would bother the wit- 
ness yet — “ Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, thai you f aw 
nothing of this fainting on the part of the plaintiff In the arns 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


643 


of the defendant, which you have heard described by the 
witnesses 

“Certainly not,’’ replied Sam, “I was in the passage ’till 
they called me np, and then the old lady was not there.” 

“Now, attend Mr. AVeller,” said Sergeant Bnzfuz, dipping 
a large pen into the inkstand before him, for the purpose of 
frightening Sam with a show of taking down his answer, “you 
were in the passage and yet saw nothing of what was going 
forward. Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. Weller ?” 

“Yes, I have a pair of eyes,” replied Sam, “and that’s just 
it. If they wos a pair o’ patent double million magnifyin’ gas 
microscopes of hextra power, p’raps I might be able to see 
through a flight o’ stairs and a deal door; but bein’ only eyes 
you see, my wision’s limited.” 

At this answer, which was delivered without the slightest 
appearance of irritation, and with the most complete siraplicitj 
and equanimity of manner, the spectators tittered, the little 
judge smiled, and Sergeant Buzfuz looked particularly foolish. 
After a short consultation with Dodson and Bt)gg, the learned 
sergeant again turned towards Sam, and said, with a painful 
effort to conceal his vexation, “Now, Mr. Weller, I’ll ask you 
a question on another point, if you please.” 

“ If you please. Sir,” rejoined Sam, with the utmost good- 
humor. 

“ Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell’s house, one 
night in November last ?” 

“Oh yes, wery well.” 

“Oh, you do remember that, Mr. Weller,” said Sergeant 
Buzfuz, recovering his spirits, “ I thought we should get at 
something at last.” 

“I rather thought that, too. Sir,” replied Sam; and at this 
the s))ectators littered again. 

“Well ; I suppose you went up to have a little talk about 
this trial -eh, Mr. Weller?” said Sergeant Buzfuz, looking 
knowingly at the jury 

“ I went up to pay the rent; but we did get a talkin’ about 
the trial,” replied Sam. 

“Oh you did get a talking about the trial,” said Sergeant 
Buzfuz, brightening up with the anticipation of some important 


642 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


discovery. ^‘Now what passed about the trial; will you have 
the goodness to tell us, Mr. Weller?” 

“Vith all the pleasure in life, Sir,” replied Sam. “Arter 
a few unimportant obserwations from the two wirtuous females 
as has been examined here to-day, the ladies gets into a very 
great state o’ admiration at the honorable conduct of Mr. Dod- 
son and Fogg — them two gen’l’men as is sittin’ near you now.” 
This, of couse, drew general attention to Dodson and Fogg, 
who looked as virtuous as possible. 

“ The attornies for the plaintiff,” said Mr. Sergeant Buzfuz, 
** well they spoke in high praise of the honorable conduct of 
Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, the attornies for the plaintiff, did 
they ?” 

“Yes,” said Sam, “they said what a wery gen’rous thing it 
was o’ them to have taken up the case on spec, and to charge 
nothin’ at all for costs, unless they got ’em out of Mr. Pick- 
wick.” 

At this very unexpected reply, the spectators tittered again, 
and Dodson and Fogg, turning very red, leant over to Ser- 
geant Buzfuz, and in a hurried manner whispered something in 
his ear. 

“You are quite right,” said Sergeant Buzfuz aloud, with 
affected composure. “ It’s perfectly useless, my lord, attempt- 
ing to get at any evidence through the impenetrable stupidity 
of this witness. I will not trouble the court by asking him any 
more questions. Stand down, Sir.” 

“Would any other gen’l’man like to ask me anythin’ ? ” in- 
quired Sam, taking up his hat, and looking round most delibe- 
rately. 

“Not I, Mr. Weller, thank you,” said Sergeant Snubbin, 
laughing. 

“ You may go down. Sir,” said Sergent Buzfuz, weaving his 
hand impatiently. Sam went down accordingly, after doing 
Messrs. Dodson and Fogg’s case as much harm as he conve- 
niently could, and saying just as little respecting Mr. Pickwick 
as might be, which was precisely the object he had had in view 
all along. 

“I have no objection to admit, my lord,” said Sergeant 
Snubbin, “ if it will save the examination of another witness, 


THL’ PICKWICK PAPERS. 


64S 


that Mr. Pickwick has retired from business, and is a gentle* 
man of considerable independent property.” 

“Yery well,” said Sergeant Buzfuz, putting in the two 
letters for the clerk to read. “ Then thaPs my case, my lord.” 

Sergeant Snubbin then addressed the jury on behalf of the 
defendant ; and a very long and a very emphatic address he 
delivered, in which he bestowed the highest possible eulogiums 
on the conduct and character of Mr. Pickwick, but inasmuch 
as our readers are far better able to form a correct estimate of 
that gentleman^s merits and deserts, than Sergeant Snubbin 
could possibly be, we do not feel called upon to enter at any 
length into the learned gentleman’s observations. He attempted 
to show that the letters which had been exhibited, merely 
related to Mr. Pickwick’s dinner, or to the preparation for 
receiving him in his apartments on his return from some coun- 
try excursion. It is sufficient to add in general terms, that he 
did the best he could for Mr. Pickwick ; and the best, as every 
body knows, on the infallible authority of the old adage, could 
do no more. 

Mr Justice Stareleigh summed up, in the old-established and 
most approved form. He read as much of his notes to the jury 
as he could decipher on so short a notice, and made running 
comments on the evidence as he went along. If Mrs. Bardell 
was right, it w'as perfectly clear Mr. Pickwick was wrong, and 
if they thought the evidence of Mrs. Cluppins worthy of cre- 
dence they would believe it, and if they didn’t why they wouldn’t. 
If they were satisfied that a breach of promise of marriage had 
been committed, they would find for the plaintiff with such 
damages as they thought proper ; and if, on the other hand, 
it appears to them that no promise of marriage had ever been 
given, they would find for the defendant wdth no damages at 
all. The jury then retired to their private room to talk the 
matter over, and the judge retired to his private room to re- 
fresh himself with a mutton chop and a glass of sherry. 

A n anxious quarter of an hour elapsed ; the jury came back 
and the judge was fetched in. Mr. Pickwick put on his spec- 
tacles, and gazed at the foreman with an agitated countenance 
and a quickly beating heart. 

“ Gentlemen,” ^^Id th§ individual in black, “are yoq all 
agreed upon your verdict ? ” 


644 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“We are,’^ replied the foreman. 

“ Do you find for the plaintiff, gentlemem or for the defend- 
ant ? 

“ For the plaintiff.” 

“ With what damages, gentlemen ? ” 

“Seven hundred and fifty pounds.” 

Mr. Pickwick took off his spectacles, carefully wiped the 
glasses, folded them into the case, and put them in his pocket ; 
then having drawn on his gloves with great nicety, and stared 
at the foreman all the while, he mechanically followed Mr. 
Perker and the blue bag out of court. 

They stopped in a side room while Perker paid the court 
fees ; and here Mr. Pickwick was met by his friends. Here, 
too, he encountered Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, rubbing their 
hands with every token of outward satisfaction 

“ Well, gentlemen,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Well, Sir,” said Dodson for self and partner. 

“ You imagine you’ll get your costs, don’t you, gentlemen ?” 
said Mr. Pickwick. 

Fogg said they thought it rather probable; and Dodson 
smiled, and said they’d try. 

“You may try, and try, and try again, Messrs. Dodson and 
Fogg,” said Mr. Pickwick, vehemently, “but not one farthing 
of costs or damages do you ever get from me, if I spend the 
rest of my existence in a debtor’s prison.” 

“ Ha, ha I ” said Dodson, “ you’ll think better of that, before 
next terra, Mr. Pickwick.” 

“ He, he, he I we’ll soon see about that, Mr. Pickwick”grinned 
Fogg. 

Speechless with indignation, Mr. Pickwick allowed himself 
to be led by his solicitor and friends to the door, and there 
assisted into a hackney-coach, which had been fetched for the 
purpose, by the ever watchful Sara Weller. 

Sam had put up the steps and was preparing to jump upon 
the box, when he felt himself gently touched on the shoulder ; 
and looking round, his father stood before him. The old gen- 
tleman’s countenance wore a mournful expression, as he shook 
his head gravely and said, in warning accents — 

I know’d what ’ud come o’ this here mode o’ doin’ bisness. 
Oh. Samni't'. Sammy, vy worn’t there a allcybi ’ ” 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


IX WHIG a MR. riCKWaCK THINKS HE HAD BETTER GO TO BATH ; 

AND GOES ACCORDINGLY. 

“But surely, my dear Sir,” said little Perker, as he stood 
in Mr. Pickwick’s apartment on the morning after the trial — 
“ Surely you don’t really mean — really and seriously now, and 
irritation apart — that you won’t pay these costs and da- 
mages ?” 

“ Not one halfpenny,” said Mr. Pickwick, firmly ; “ not one 
halfpenny.” 

“ Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he 
vouldn’t renew the bill,” observed Mr. Weller, who was clear- 
ing away the breakfast things. 

“Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, “have the goodness to step 
down stairs.” 

“Cert’nly, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller; and acting on Mr 
Pickwick’s gentle hint, Sam retired. 

“No, Perker,” said Mr. Pickwick, with great seriousness of 
manner, “my friends here, have endeavored to dissuade me 
from this determination, but without avail. I shall employ 
myself as usual, until the opposite party have the power of 
issuing a legal process of execution against me : and if they 
are vile enough to avail themselves of it, and to arrest ray per- 
son, I shall yield myself up with perfect cheerfulness and con- 
tent of heart When can they do this ?” 

“ They can issue execution, my dear Sir, for the amount of 
the damages and taxed costs, next terra,” replied Perker, “just 
two months hence, ray dear Sir.” 

“Very good,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Until that time, my 
dear fellow, let me hear no more of the matter. And now,” 
continued Mr. Pickwick, looking round on his friends with a 
good-humored smile, and a sparkle in the eye which no speo 

( 545 ) 


540 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


tacles could dim or conceal, “ the only question is, Where shall 
vvc go to next 

Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were too much affected by 
their friend’s heroism to offer any reply. Mr. Winkle had not 
y^et sufficiently recovered the recollection of his evidence at the 
trial, to make any observation on any subject, so Mr. Pickwick 
paused in vain. 

** Well,’' said that gentleman, “if you leave me to suggest 
our destination, I saj Bath. I think none of us have ever 
been there.” 

Nobody had ; and as the proposition was warmly seconded 
by Perker, who considered it extremely probable that if Mr. 
Pickwick saw a little change and gaiety he would be inclined 
to think better of his determination, and worse of a debtor’s 
prison, it was carried unanimously ; and Sam was at once dis- 
patched to tho White Horse Cellar, to take five places by the 
half-past seven o’clock coach, next morning. 

There were junt two places to be had inside, and just three 
to be had out ; so Sam Weller booked for them all, and having 
exchanged a few compliments with the booking-office clerk on 
the subject of a pewter half-crown which was tendered him as 
a portion of his “ change,” walked back to the George and 
Vulture, v/here he was pretty busily employed till bed-time in 
reducing clothes and linen into the smallest possible compass, 
and exeriing his mechanical genius in constructing a variety of 
ingenious devices for keeping the lids on boxes which had 
neither locks nor hinges. 

The next was a very unpropitious morning for a journey — 
muggy, damp, and drizzly. The horses in the stages that were 
going out, and had come -through the city, were smoking so, 
that the outside passengers were invisible. The newspaper- 
sellers looked moist and smelt mouldy ; the wet ran off :he 
hats of the orange-venders as they thrust their heads into ihe 
coach windows, and diluted the insides in a refreshing manner. 
The Jews witli the fifiy-bladvd penkifes shut them up in de- 
spair ; and the men with the pocket-books made pocket-books 
of them. Watch-guaids and toasting-forks were alike at a 
discount, and pencil-cases and sponge were a drug in the 
market. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


647 


Leaving Sam Weller to rescue the luggage from the seven 
or eight porters who flung themselves eagerly upon it, the 
moment the coach stopped, and finding that they were about 
twenty minutes too early, Mr. Pickwick and his friends went 
for shelter into the travelers’ room — the last resource of human 
dejection. 

The travelers’ room at the White Horse Cellar is of course 
uncomfortable : it would be no travelers’ room if it were not. 
It is the right-hand parlor, into which an aspiring kitchen fire- 
place appears to have walked, accompanied by a rebellious 
poker, tongs, and shovel. It is divided into boxes for the soli- 
tary confinement of travelers, and is furnished with a clock, a 
looking-glass, and a live waiter, which latter article is kept in a 
small kennel for washing glasses, in a corner of the apartment. 

One of these boxes was occupied on this particular occasion 
by a stern eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald 
and glossy forehead, with a good deal of black hair at the 
sides and back of his head, and large black whiskers. He was 
buttoned up to the chin in a brown coat ; and had a large seal- 
skin traveling cap, and a greatcoat and cloak lying on the 
seat beside him. He looked up from his breakfast as Mr. 
Pickwick entered, with a fierce and peremptory air, which was 
very dignified ; and having scrutinized that gentleman and his 
companions to his entire satisfaction, hummed a tune, in a 
manner which seemed to say that he rather suspected some- 
body wanted to take advantage of him, but it wouldn’t do. 

“Waiter,” said the gentleman with the whiskers. 

“ Sir ?” replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel 
of the same, emerging from the kennel before mentioned. 

“ Some more toast.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Buttered toast, mind,” said the gentleman, fiercely. 

“ D’rcctly, Sir,” replied the waiter. 

The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the same 
manner as before, and pending the arrival of the toast, advanced 
to the front of the fire, and, taking his- coat tails under his arms, 
looked at his boots and ruminated. 

“ I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up,” said 
Mr. Pickwick, mildly addressing Mr. Winkle. 


948 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** Hum — eh — what’s that said the strange man. 

“I made an observation to ray friend, Sir,” replied Mr. Pick 
wick, always ready to enter into conversation. “I wondered 
at what house the Bath coach put up Perhaps you can inform 
me.” 

“ Are you going to Bath ?” said the strange man. 

“ I am, Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

** And those other gentlemen ?” 

**They are going also,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

” Not inside — I’ll be damned if you’re going inside,” said the 
strange man. 

*‘Not all of us,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

*‘No not all of you,” said the strange man emphatically. 
** I’ve taken two places. If they try to squeeze six people into 
an infernal box that only holds four, I’ll take a post-chaise and 
bring an action. I’ve paid my fare. It won’t do ? I told the 
clerk when I took my places that it wouldn’t do. I know these 
things have been done. I know they are done every day, but I 
never was done, and I never will be. Those who know me best, 
best know it ; crush me 1” Here the fierce gentleman rang the 
bell with great violence, and told the waiter he’d better bring 
the toast in five seconds, or he’d know the reason why. 

“My dear Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, “you will allow me to 
observe that this is a very unnecessary display of excitement, I 
have only taken places inside, for two.” 

“ I am glad to hear it,” said the fierce man. “ I withdraw 
my expressions. I tender an apology. There’s my card. Give 
me your acquaintance.” 

“With great pleasure. Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “We 
are to be fellow travelers, and I hope we shall find each other’s 
society mutually agreeable.” 

“ I hope we shall,” said the fierce gentleman. “ I know we 
shall. I like your looks ; they please me. Gentlemen, your 
hands and names. Know me.” 

Of course, an interchange of friendly salutations followed this 
gracious speech ; and the fierce gentleman immediately pro- 
ceeded to inform the friends in the same short abrupt jerking 
sentences that his name was Dowler, that he was going to Bath 
on pleasure, that he was formerly in the army, and he had now 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


set np in business as a gentleman, that he lived upon the profits, 
and that the individual for whom the second place was taken, 
was a personage no less illustrious than Mrs. Dowler, his lady 
wife 

“She is a fine woman,” said Mr. Dowler. “I am proud of 
her. I have reason.” 

“I hope *1 shall have the pleasure of judging,” said Mr, 
Pickwick with a smile. 

“You shall,” replied Dowler. “She shall know you. She 
shall esteem you. I courted her under singular circumstances. 
I won her through a rash vow. Thus. I saw her ; I loved 
her; I proposed; she refused me. — ‘You love another?’ — 
‘ Spare my blushes.’ — ‘ I know him.’ — ‘ You do.’ ‘ Yery good, 
if he remains here. I’ll skin him.’ ” 

“Lord bless me I” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily. 

“ Did you skin the gentleman. Sir ?” inquired Mr. Winkle, 
with a very pale face. 

“ I wrote him a note. I said it was a painful thing. And 
so it was.” 

“ Certainly,” interposed Mr. Winkle. 

“ I said I had pledged my word as a gentleman to skin him. 
My character was at stake. I had no alternative. As an 
officer in His Majesty’s service, I was bound to do it. I regret- 
ted the necessity, but it must be done. He was open to con- 
viction. He saw that the rules of the service were imperative. 
He fled. I married her. Here’s the coach. That’s her head.” 

As Mr. Dowler concluded, he pointed to a stage which had 
just driven up : from the open window of which, a rather pretty 
face in a bright blue bonnet was looking among the crowd on 
the pavement, most probably for the rash man himself. Mr. 
Dowler paid his bill and hurried out with his traveling-cap, 
coat, and cloak ; and Mr. Pickwick and his friends followed to 
s.^cure their places. 

Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves at 
the back part of the coach ; Mr. Winkle had got inside, and Mr. 
Pickwick was preparing to follow him, when Sam Weller came 
up to his master, and whispering in his ear, begged to spe-ak to 
him, with an air of the deepest mystery. 

“ Well, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ What’s the matter now T* 


660 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


‘‘Here’s rajther a rnm go, Sir,” replied Sam. 

“"U’liat ?” inquired ]Mr. Pickwick. 

“This here. Sir,” rejoined Sam, “I’m werymuch afecrd, Sir, 
that the proprietor o’ this here coacli is a playin’ some impercnco 
vith us.” 

“ How is that, Sam ?” said Mr Pickwick ; “ aren’t the names 
down on the way bill ?” 

“ The names is not only dowm on the vay-bill, Sir,” replied 
Sam, “ but they’ve painted vun on ’em up, on the door o’ the 
coach.” As Sam spoke, he pointed to that part of the coach 
on which the proprietor’s name usually appear ; and there sure 
enough, in gilt letters .of a goodly size, was the name of Pick- 
wick ! 

“ Dear me,” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by the 
coincidence ; “ what a very extraordinary thing I” 

“Yes, but that ain’t all,” said Sam, again directing his mas- 
ter’s attention to the coach door; “not content vith writin’ up 
Pickwick, they puts ‘ Moses ’ afore it, vich I call addin’ insult 
to injury, as the parrot said ven they not only took him from his 
native land, but made him talk the English langvidge arter- 
vards. ” 

“ It’s odd enough certainly, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick; “ but 
if we stand talking here, we shall lose our places.” 

“Wot, ain’t nothin’ to be done in consequence, Sir? “ex- 
claimed Sam, perfectly aghast at the coolness with which Mr. 
Pickwick prepared to ensconce himself inside. 

“ Done !” said Mr. Pickwick. “ What should be done ?” 

“ Ain’t nobody to be whopped for takin’ this here liberty. 
Sir ?” said Mr. Weller, who had expected that at least he 
would have been commissioned to challenge the guard and 
coachman to a pugilistic encounter on the spot. 

“Certainly not,” replied Mr. Pickwick eagerly; “not on 
fny account. Jump up to your seat directly.” 

“I’m werymuch afeerd,” muttered Sam to himself, as he 
turned away, “that somethin’ queer’s come over the governor, 
or he’d never ha’ stood this so quiet. I hope that ’ere trial 
hasn’t broken his spirit, but it looks bad : wery bad.” Mr. 
Weller shook his head gravely ; and it is worthy of re- 
mark, as an illustration of the manner in which he took this 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


661 


circumstance to heart, that he did not speak another word 
until the coach reached tlie Kensington turnpike, which ^^a3 
so long a time for him to remain taciturn, that the fact may be 
considered wholly unprecedented. 

Nothing worthy of special mention occurred during the 
journey. Mr. Dowler related a variety of anecdotes, all illus- 
trative of his own personal prowess and desperation, and ap- 
pealed to Mrs. Dowler in corroboration thereof ; when Mi-s. 
Dowler invariably brought in, in the form of an appen lix, 
some remarkable fact or circumstance which Mr. Dowler had 
forgotten, or had perhaps through modesty omitted, for ti»e 
addenda in every instance went to show^ that Mr. Dowler was 
even a more wonderful fellow than he made himself out to be. 
Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle listened with great admiration, 
and at intervals conversed with Mrs. Dowler, who was a very 
agreeable and fascinating person. So, what between Mr. 
Dowler’s stories, and Mrs. Dowler^s charms, and Mr. Pick- 
wick^s good humor, and Mr. Winkle’s good listening, the 
insides contrived to be very companionable all the way. 

The outsides did as outsides always do. They were very 
cheerful and talkative at the beginning of every stage, and 
very dismal and sleepy in the middle, and very bright and 
wmkeful again, towards the end. There was one young gentle- 
man in an India-rubber cloak, who smoked cigars all day ; and 
there was another young gentleman in a parody upon a great 
coat, who lighted a good many, and feeling obviously unsettled 
after the second whiff, threw them away when he thought 
nobody was looking at him. There was a third young man on 
the box who wished to be learned in cattle, and an old one 
behind, who was familiar with farming. There was a constant 
succession of Christian names in smock frocks and white coats, 
who were invited to have a “ lift” by the guard, and who knew 
every horse and hostler on the road and off it ; and there was 
a dinner which would have been cheap at half-a-crown a 
mouth, if any moderate number of mouths could have eat it in 
the time. And at seven o’clock, p. m., Mr. Pickwick and his 
friends, and Mr. Dowler and his wife, respectively retired to 
their private sitting-rooms at the White Hart hotel, opposite 
the great pump room, Bath, where the waiters, from their 


552 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


costume, might be mistaken for Westminister boys, only they 
destroy the illusion by behaving themselves so much better. 

Breakfast had scarcely been cleared away on the succeeding 
morning, when a waiter brought in Mr. Dowler’s card, with a 
request to be allowed permission to introduce a friend. Mr. 
Dowler at once followed up the delivery of the card, by bring- 
ing himself and the friend also. 

The friend was a charming young man of not much moro 
than fifty, dressed in a very bright blue coat with resplendent 
buttons, black trousers, and the thinnest possible pair of 
highly-polished boots. A gold eye-glass was suspended from 
his neck by a short br».ad black ribbon ; a gold snuff-box was 
lightly clasped in his left hand, gold rings innumerable glittered 
on his fingers, and a large diamond pin set in gold glistened 
in his shirt frill. He had a gold watch, and a gold curb chain 
with large gold seals'; and he carried a pliant ebony cane with 
a heavy gold top. His linen was of the very whitest, finest, 
and stififest; his wig of the glossiest, blackest, and curliest. 
His snuff was princes’ mixture; his scent bouquet du roi. 
His features were contracted into a perpetual smile ; and his 
teeth were in such perfect order that it was difficult at a small 
distance to tell the real ones from the false. 

“Mr. Pickwick,” said Dowler; “my friend, Angelo Cyrus 
Bantam, Esquire, M. C. Bantam ; Mr. Pickwick. Know 
each other.” 

“ Welcome to Ba — ath. Sir. This is indeed an acquisition. 
Most welcome to Ba — ath. Sir. It is long— very long, Mr. 
Pickwick, since you drank the waters. It appears an age, Mr. 
Pickwick. Re — markable I” 

Such w'ere the expressions with which Angelo Cyrus Ban- 
tam, Esquire, M. C., took Mr. Pickwick’s hand ; retaining it 
in his meantime, and shrugging up his shoulders with a con- 
stant succession of bows, as if he really could not make up his 
mind to the trial of letting it go again. 

“ It is a very long time since I drank the waters, certainly,’ 
replied Mr. Pickwick ; “ for to the best of my knowledge, I 
was never here before.” 

“Never in Ba — ath, Mr. Pickwick I” exclaimed the Grand 
Master, letting the hand fall in astonishment. “ Never in 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 658 

Ba — ath ! He I he ! Mr. Pickwick, you are a wag. Not bad, 
not bad. Good, good. He I he I he! Re — markable!” 

“To my shame, I must say that I am perfectly serious,” 
rejoined Mr. Pickwick. “I really never was here before.” 

“ Oh, I see,” exclaimed the Grand Master, looking extremely 
pleased; “Yes, yes — good, good — better aud better. You 
are the gentleman of whom we have heard. Yes ; we know 
you, Mr. Pickwick; we know you.” 

“ The reports of the trial in those confounded papers,” 
thought Mr. Pickwick. “ They have heard all about me.” 

“You are the gentleman residing on Clapham Green,” 
resumed Bantam, “ who lost the use of his limbs from impru- 
dently taking cold after port wine — who copld not be moved 
in consequence of acute suffering, and who had the water from 
the King’s Bath bottled at one hundred and three degrees, and 
sent by waggon to his bed-room in town, where he bathed, 
sneezed and same day recovered. Very remarkable !” 

Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment which the sup- 
position implied, but had the self-denial to repudiate it, not- 
withstanding ; and taking advantage of a moment’s silence on 
the part of the M. C., begged to introduce his friends, Mr 
Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass — an introduction 
which of course overwhelmed the M. C. with delight and 
honor. 

“ Bantam,” said Mr. Dbwler, “ Mr. Pickwick and his friends 
are strangers. They must put their names down. Where’s 
the book ?” 

“ The register of the distinguished visiters in Ba — ath will 
be at the Pump Room this morning at two o’clock,” replied the 
M. C. “ Will you guide our friends to that splendid building, 
and enable me to procure their autographs ?” 

“ I will,” rejoined Dowlcr. “ This is a long call. It’s time 
to go; I shall be here again in an hour. Come.” 

“This is a ball night,” said the M. C., again taking Mr. 
Pickwick’s hand, as he rose to go. “ The ball-nights in Ba — atk 
are moments snatched from Paradise ; rendered bewitching by 
music, beauty, elegance, fashion, etiquette, and — and — above 
all, by the absence of trades- people, who are quite inconsistent 
with Paradise, and who have an amalgamation of themselves at 


664 


THE PICKWICK PAPEBS. 


the Guildhall e^ery fortnight, which is, .to say the least, remark- 
able. Good bye, good bye I” and protesting all the way down 
stairs that he was most satisfied, and most delighted, and most 
over owered, and most flattered, Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, 
M. C., stepped into a very elegant chariot that waited at the 
door, and rattled off. 

At the appointed hour, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, escorted 
by Bowler, repaired to the Assembly Rooms, and wrote their 
names down in the book — an instance of condescension at which 
Angelo Bantam was even more overpowered than before. 
Tickets of admission to that evening’s assembly were to have 
been prepared for the whole party, but as they were not ready 
Mr. Pickwick undertook, despite all the protestations to the 
contrary of Angelo Bantam, to send Sam for them at four 
o’clock in the afternoon, to the M. C.’s house in Queen Square. 
Having taken a short walk through the city, and arrived at the 
unanimous conclusion that Park Street was very much like the 
perpendicular streets a man sees in a dream, which he cannot 
get up for the life of him, they returned to the White Hart, aiid 
despatched Sam on the errand to which his master had pledged 
him. 

Sam Weller put on his hat in a very easy and graceful manner, 
and thrusting his hands in his waistcoat pockets, walked with 
great deliberation to Queen Square, whistling as he went along, 
several of the most popular airs of the day, as arranged with 
entirely new movements for that noble instrument the organ, 
either mouth or barrel. Arriving at the number in Queen 
Square to which he had been directed, he left off whistling, and 
gave a cheerful knock which was instantaneously answered by 
a powdered-headed footman in gorgeous livery, and symmetri- 
cal stature, 

“ Is this here Mr. Bantam’s, old feller?” inquired Sam Weller, 
nothing abashed by the blaze of splendor which burst upon his 
sight, in the person of the powderod-headed footman with the 
gorgeous livery. 

“Why, young man?” was the haughty inquir)’- of the pow- 
dered-headed footman. 

“ ’Cos if it is, jist you step into him with that ’ere card, and 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


655 


say Mr. Teller’s a waitin’, will you, six foot ?” said Sam. And 
saying it, he very coolly walked into the hall, and sat dcwn. 

The powdered-headed footman slammed the door very hard, 
and scowled very grandly, but both the slam and the scowl 
were lost upon Sam, who was regarding a mahogany umbrella 
stand with every outward token of critical approval. 

Apparently his master’s reception of the card had impressed 
the powdered-headed footman in Sam’s favor. When he came 
back from delivering it, he smiled in a friendly manner, and 
said that the answer would be ready directly. 

“ Wery good,” said Sam. “Tell the old gen’lm’n not to 
put himself in a perspiration. No hurry, six-foot. I’ve had 
my dinner.” 

“You dine early, Sir,” said the powdered-headed footman. 

“ I find I gets on better at supper when I does,” replied Sara. 

“ Have you been long in Bath, Sir ?” inquired the powdered- 
headed footman. “ I have not had the pleasure of hearing of 
you before.” 

“ I haven’t created any wery surprisin’ sensation here yet,” 
rejoined Sara, “ for me and the other fash’nables only come 
last night.” 

“Nice place, Sir,” said the powdered-headed footman. 

“ Seems so,” observed Sam. 

“ Pleasant society. Sir,” remarked the powdered-headed foot- 
man. “Very agreeable servants. Sir.” 

“I should think they wos,” replied Sam. “Affable, unaf- 
fected, say-nothin’-to-nobody sort o’ fellers.” 

“ Oh, very much so, indeed. Sir,” said the powdered-headed 
footman, evidently taking Sam’s remarks as a high compliment. 
“ Very much so indeed. Do you do any thing in this way. 
Sir ?” inquired the tall footman, producing a small snuff-box 
with a fox’s head on the top of it, 

“ Not without sneezing,” replied Sara. 

“ Why, it is difficult, Sir, I confess,” said the tall footman 
“It may be done by degrees. Sir. Coffee is the best practice. 
I carried coffee, Sir, for a long time. It looks very m.ich like 
rappee, Sir.” 

Here a sharp peel at the bell reduced the powdered-headed 
footman to the ignominious nec ^ssity of putting the fox’s head 


556 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


in his pocket, and hastening with a humble countenance to Mr. 
Bantam’s “study.” By the by, we scarcely ever knew a man 
who never read or wrote either, who hadn’t got some small 
back parlor which he would call a study. 

“ There is the answer. Sir,” said the powdered-headed foot- 
man. “ I am afraid you’ll find it inconveniently large.” 

“ Don’t mention it,” said Sam, taking a letter with a small 
enclosure. “It’s just possible as exhausted natur may manage 
to surwive it.” 

“ I hope we shall meet again. Sir,” said the powdered-headed 
footman, rubbing his hands, and following Sam out to the door- 
step. 

“You are wery obligin’. Sir,” replied Sam. “Now, don’t 
allow yourself to be fatigued beyond your powers, there’s a 
amiable bein’. Consider what you owe to society, and don’t 
let yourself be injured by too much work. For the sake o’ 
your feller creeters, keep yourself as quiet as you can ; only 
think what a loss you would be.” With these pathetic^ words, 
Sam Weller departed. 

“ A very singular young man that,” said the powdered-headed 
footman, looking after Mr. Weller with a countenance which 
clearly showed he could make nothing of him. 

Sam said nothing at all. He winked, shook his head, smiled, 
winked again ; and with an expression of countenance which 
seemed to denote that he was greatly amused with something oi 
other, walked merrily away. 

At precisely twenty minutes before eight o’clock that night, 
Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, the Master of the Ceremonies, 
emerged from his chariot at the door of the Assembly Rooms, 
in the same wig, the same teeth, the same eye-glass, the same 
watch and seals, the same rings, the same shirt-pin, and the 
same cane. The only observable alterations in his appearance 
were, that he wore a brighter blue coat, with a white silk lining, 
black tights, black silk stockings, and pumps, and a white waist 
coat, and was, if possible, just a thought more scented. 

Thus attired, the Master of the Ceremonies, in strict dis- 
charge of the important duties of his all-important office, planted 
himself in the rooms to receive the company. 

Bath being full, the company, and the sixpences for tea 


THE PICKTVICK papers. 


657 


poured in, in shoals. In the ball-room, the long card-room, 
the octagonal card-room, the staircases, and the passages, tho 
hum of many voices, and the sound of many feet, were perfectly 
bewildering. Dresses rustled, feathers waved, lights shone, and 
jewels marked. There was the music — not of the quadrille 
band, for it had not yet commenced ; but the music of soft tiny 
footsteps, with now and then a clear merry laugh — low and 
gentle, but very pleasant to hear in a female voice, whether in 
Bath or elsewhere. Brilliant eyes, lighted up with pleasurable 
expectation, gleamed from every side ; and look where you 
would, some exquisite form glidM gracefully through the 
throng, and was no sooner lost, than it was replaced by another, 
as dainty and bewitching. 

In the tea-room, and hovering round the card-tables, were a 
vast number of queer old ladies and decrepid old gentlemen, 
discussing all the small talk and scandal of the day, with an 
evident relish and gusto which sufficiently bespoke the intensity 
of the pleasure they derived from the occupation. Mingled 
with these groups were three or four matchmaking mammas, 
appearing to be wholly absorbed by the conversation in which 
they were taking part, but failing not, from time to time to cast 
an anxious sidelong glance upon their daughters, who, remem- 
bering the maternal injunction to make the best use of their 
time, had already commenced incipient flirtations in the mislay- 
ing scarfs, putting on gloves, setting down cups, and so forth ; 
slight matters apparently, but which may be turned to surpris- 
ingly good account by expert practitioners. 

Lounging near the doors, and in remote corners, were various 
knots of silly young men, displaying every variety of puppyism 
and stupidity, amusing all sensible people near them with their 
folly and conceit, and happily thinking themselves the objects 
of general admiration — a wise and merciful dispensation which 
no good man will quarrel with. 

And lastly, seated on some of the back benches, where they 
had already taken up their positions for the evening, were diners 
unmarried ladies past their grand climateric, who, not dancing 
because there were no partners for them, and not playing cards 
lest they should be set down as irretrievably single, were in the 
favorable situation of being able to abuse everybody without 


558 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


reflecting on themselves. In short, they could abuse everybody 
because everybody was there. It was a scene of gaiety, glitter 
and show ; of richly-dressed people, handsome mirrors, chalked 
floors, girandoles, and wax-candles ; and in all parts of the 
scene, gliding from spot to spot in silent softness, bowing obse- 
quiously to this party, nodding familiarly to that, and smiling 
complacently on all, was the sprucely attired person of Angelo 
Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, the Master of the Ceremonies. 

“ Stop in the tea-room. Take your sixpenn’orth. They lay 
on hot water, and call it tea. Drink it,” said Mr. Dowler, in 
a loud voice, directing Mr. Pickwick, who advanced at the 
head of the little party, with Mrs. Dowler on his arm. Into 
the tea-room Mr. Pickwick tunied ; and catching sight of him, 
Mr. Bantam corkscrewed his way through the crowd, and wel- 
comed him with ecstacy. 

“ My dear Sir, I am highly honoured. Ba — ath is favored, 
Mrs. Dowler, you embellish the rooms. I congratulate you on 
your feathers. Re — markable I” 

“ Any body here ?” inquired Dowler, suspiciously. 

“Any body I The Hite of Ba — ath. Mr. Pickwick, do you 
see the lady in the gauze turban ?” 

“ The fat old lady ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, innocently. 

“ Hush, my dear Sir — nobody’s fat or old in Ba — ath. That’s 
the Dowager Lady Snuphanupli.” 

“ Is it indeed ?” said Mr. Pickwiek. 

“No less a person, I assure you,” said the master of the 
Ceremonies. “ Hush. Draw a little nearer, Mr. Pickwick. 
You see the splendidly dressed young man coming this way?” 

“ The one with the long hair, and the particularly small fore- 
head ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“The same. The richest young man in B — ath at this 
moment. Young Lord Mutanhcd.” 

“You don’t say so ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Yes. You’ll hear his voice in a moment, Mr. Pickwick 
He’ll speak to me. The other gentleman with him, in the red 
'inder waistcoat and dark moustache, is the Honorable Mr. 
Criishton, his bosom friend. How do you do, my Lord ?” 

“ Veway hot. Bantam,” said his lordship. 

“ It in very warm, my lord,” replied the M. C. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


559 


‘' Confounded,” assented the Honorable Mr. Cnishton. 

“ Have you seen his lordship’s mail cart, Bantam,” inquired 
the Honorable Mr. Crushton, after a short pause, during which 
young Lord Mutanhed had been endeavoring to stare Mr. 
Pickwick out of countenance, and Mr. Crushton had been 
reflecting what subject his lordship could talk about best. 

“Dear me, no,” replied the M. C. “A mail cart I What 
an excellent idea. Re — markable 1” 

“ Gwacious Heavens I” said his lordship, “I thought evcive- 
body had seen the new mail cart ; it’s the neatest, pwettiest, 
gwacefullest thing that ever wan upon wheels — painted wed, 
with a cweam piebald.” 

“ With a real box for the letters, and all complete,” said the 
Honorable Mr. Crushton. 

“And a little seat in fw-ont, with an iwon wail, for the 
dwiver,” added his lordship. “ I dwove it over to Bwistol the 
other morning in a cwimson coat, with two servants widing a 
quarter of a mile behind ; and cwucify me if the people didn’t 
wush out of their cottages, and awest my pwogwess, to know 
if I wasn’t the post. Glorwious, Glorwious !” 

At this anecdote his lordship laughed very heartily, as did 
the listeners, of course. Then drawing his arm through that 
of the obsequious Mr. Crushton, Lord Mutanhed walked 
away. 

“ Delightful young man, his lordship,” said the Master of 
the Ceremonies. 

“ So I should think,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick, drily. 

The dancing having commenced, the necessary introductions 
having been made, and all preliminaries arranged, Angelo 
Bantam rejoined Mr. Pickwick, and led him into the card- 
room. 

Just at the very moment of their entrance, the Dowager 
Lady Snuphanuph and two other ladies of an ancient and 
whist-like appearance, were hovering over an unoccupied card- 
table ; and they no sooner set eyes upon Mr. Pickwick under 
the convoy of Angelo Bantam, than they exchanged glances 
with each other, seeing that he was precisely the very person 
they wanted to make up the rubber. 

“My dear Bantam,” said the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph, 
36 


660 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


coaxingly, “find us some nice creature to make up this table; 
there’s a good soul.” Mr. Pickwick happened to be looking 
another way at the moment, so her ladyship nodded her head 
towards him, and frowned expressively. 

“ My friend Mr. Pickwick, my lady, will bo most happy, I 
am sure, re — markably so,” said the M. C., taking the hint. 

“ Air. Pickwick, Lady Snuphanuph — Mrs. Colonel Wugsby — 
Aliss Bolo.” 

Air. Pickwick bowed to each of the ladies, and finding 
escape impossible, cut. Air. Pickwick and Aliss Bolo against 
Lady Snuphanuph and Mrs. Colonel Wugsby. 

Just as the trump card was turned up, at the commencement 
of the second deal, two young ladies hurried into the room, 
and took their stations on either side of Airs. Colonel Wtigsby’s 
chair, where they waited patiently until the hand was over. 

“ Now, Jane,” said Airs. Colonel Wugsby, turning to one of 
the girls, “ what is it ?” 

“I came to ask, ma, whether I might dance with the young- 
est Mr. Crawley,’*’ whispered the prettier and younger of the 
two. 

“ Good God, Jane, how can you think of such things I” 
replied the mamma, indignantly. “ Haven’t you repeatedly 
heard that his father has only eight hundred a-year, which dies i 
with him? I am ashamed of you. Not on any account.” 

“ Ala,” whispered the other, who was much older than her 
Bister, and yery insipid and artificial, “Lord Alutanhed has 1 
been introduced to me. I said I thought I wasn’t engaged, f 
ma.” 

“You’re a sweet pet, my love,” replied Airs. Colonel ; 
Wugsby, tapping her daughter’s cheek with her fan. “ and are 
always to be trusted. He’s immensely rich, my dear. Bless 
yoJi.” With these words, Mrs. Colonel Wugsby kissed her 
eldest daughter most affectionately, and frowning in a warning 
manner upon the other, sorted her cards. 

Poor Air. Pickwick I he had never played with three j 
thorough-paced female card-players before. They were so 
desperately sharp that they quite frightened him. If he 
played a wrong card. Miss Bolo looked a small armory of i 
daggers ; if he stopped to consider which was the right one, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


661 


Lady Suuphanupli would throw herself back in her chair, and 
smile with a mingled glance of impatience and pity to Mrs. Colo- 
nel Wugsby, at which Mrs. Colonel Wugsby would shrug up her 
shoulders, and cough, as much as to say she wondered whether 
he ever would begin. Then, at the end of every hand. Miss 
Bolo would inquire with a dismal countenance and reproachful 
sigh, why Mr. Pickwick had not returned that diamond, or led 
the club, or roughed the spade, or finessed the heart, or led 
through the honor, or bro ight out the ace, or played up to the 
king, or some such thing ; and in reply to all these grave 
charges, Mr. Pickwick would be wholly unable to plead any 
justification whatever ; having by this time forgotten all about 
the game. People came and looked on, too, which made Mr. 
Pickwick nervous. Besides all this, there was a great deal of 
distracting conversation near the table, between Angelo Ban- 
tam and the two Miss Matinters, who, being single and sin- 
gular, paid great court to the Master of the Ceremonies, in the 
hope of getting a stray partner now and then. All these 
things, combined with the noises and interruptions of constant 
comings in and goings out, made Mr. Pickwick play rather 
badly ; the cards were against him, also, and when they left 
off at ten minutes past eleven. Miss Bolo rose from the table 
considerably agitated, and went straight home in a flood of 
tears, and a sedan chair. 

Being joined by his friends, who one and all protested that 
they had scarcely ever spent a more pleasant evening, Mr. 
Pickwick accompanied them to the White Hart, and having 
soothed his feelings with something hot, went to bed, and to 
sleep, almost simultaneously. 


CHAPTER XXXTII. 


THE CHIEF FEATURES OF WHICH, WILL ’.^E FOUND TO BE AN 

AUTHENTIC VERSION OF THE LEGEND OF PRINCE BLADUD, 

AND A MOST EXTRAORDINARY CALAMITY THAT BEFEL MR. 

WINKLE. 

As Mr. Pickwick contemplated a stay of at least two months 
in Bath, he deemed it advisable to take private lodgings for 
himself and friends for that period ; and as a favorable oppor- 
tunity offered for their securing, on moderate terms, the upper 
portion of a house in the Royal Crescent, which was larger 
than they required, Mr. and Mrs. Dowler offered to relieve 
them of a bed-room and sitting-room. This proposition was 
at once accepted, and in three days’ time they were all located 
in their new abode, when Mr. Pickwick began to drink the 
waters with the utmost assiduity. Mr. Pickwick took them 
systematically. He drank a quarter of a pint before breakfast, 
and then walked up a hill ; and another quarter of a pint after 
breakfast, and then walked down a hill ; and after every fresh 
quarter of a pint, Mr. Pickwick declared, in the most solemn 
and emphatic terms, that he felt a great deal better, whereat 
his friends were very much delighted, though they had not 
been previously aware that there was any thing the matter 
with him. 

The great pump-room is a spacious saloon, ornamented with 
Corinthian pillars, and a music galleiy and a Tompion clock, 
and a statue of Nash, and a golden inscription, to which all 
the water-drinkers should attend, for it appeals to them in the 
cause of a deserving charity. There is a large bar with a 
marble vase, out of which the pumper gets the water, and a 
number of yellow-looking tumblers, out of which the com})any 
get it ; and it is a most edifying and satisfactory sight to be- 
hold the perseverance and gravity with which they swallow it. 
There are baths near at hand, in which a part of the company 
( 562 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


663 


wash themselves, and a band plays afterwards, to congratulate 
the remainder on their having done so. There is another pump- 
room, info which infirm ladies and gentlemen are wheeled, in 
such an astonishing variety of chairs and chaises, that any ad- 
venturous individual who goes in with the regular number of 
toes, is in imminent danger of coming out without them ; and 
there is a third, into which the quiet people go, for it is less 
noisy than either. There is an immensity of promenading, on 
crutches and off, with sticks and without : and a great deal of 
conversation, and liveliness, and pleasantry. 

Every morning, the regular water-drinkers, Mr. Pickwick 
among the number, met each other in the pump-room, took 
their quarter of a pint, and walked constitutionally. At the 
afternoon’s promenade Lord Mutanhed, and the Honorable 
Mr. Crushton, the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph, Mrs. Colonel 
Wiigsby, and all the great people, and all the morning water- 
drinkers, met in grand assemblage. After this, they walked 
out, or drove out, or were pushed out in bath chairs, and met one 
another again. After this, the gentlemen went to the reading- 
rooms and met divisions of the mass. After this, they went home 
If it were theatre night, perhaps they met at the theatre ; if it 
were assembly night, they met at the rooms ; and if it were 
neither, they met the next day — a very pleasant routine, with 
perhaps a slight tinge of sameness. 

Mr. Pickwick was sitting up by himself, after a day spent in this 
manner, making entries in his journal, his friends having retired 
to bed, when he was roused by a gentle tap at the room door 
“Beg your pardon. Sir,” said Mrs. Craddock, the landlady, 
peeping in ; “ but did you want anything more, Sir 
“Nothing more. Ma’am,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“ My young girl is gone to bed. Sir said Mrs. Craddock, 
“ and Mr. Dowler is good enough to say that he’ll sit up for 
Mrs. Dowler, as the party isn’t expected to be over till late ; 
so I was thinking that if you wanted nothing more, Mr. Pick- 
v'icK, I would go to bed.” 

“ By all means, ^la’am,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“Wish you good night, Sir,” said Mrs. Craddock. 

“ Good night, Ma’am,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 


gti THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

Mrs. Craddock closed the door, and Mr. Pickwick resumed 
his writing. 

In half an hour’s time, the entries were concluded. Mr. 
Pickwick carefully rubbed the last page on the blotting paper, 
shut up the book, wiped his pen on the bottom of the inside 
of his coat tail, and opened the drawer of the inkstand to put 
it carefully away. There were a couple of sheets of writing 
paper, pretty closely written over, in the inkstand drawer, and 
they were folded so, that the title, which was in a good round 
hand, was fully disclosed to him. Seeing from this, that it 
was no private document ; and as it seemed to relate to Bath, 
and was very short, Mr. Pickwick unfolded it, lighted his bed- 
room candle that it might burn up well by the time he finished ; 
and drawing his chair nearer the fire, read as follows : — 

THE TRUE LEGEND OF PRINCE BLADUD. 

Less than two hundred years agone, on one of the public 
baths in this city, there appeared an inscription in honor of its 
mighty founder, the renowned Prince Bladud. That inscrip- 
tion is now erased. 

“ For many hundred years before that time, there had been 
handed down from age to age, an old legend, that the illus- 
trious Prince being affected with the leprosy, on his return from 
reaping a rich harvest of knowledge in ancient Athens, shunned 
the court of his royal father, and consorted moodily, with 
husbandmen and pigs. Among the herd (so said the legend) 
was a pig of grave and solemn countenance, with whom the 
Prince had a fellow feeling — for he too was wise — a pig of 
thoughtful and reserved demeanor ; an animal superior to his 
fellows, whose grunt was terrible, and whose bite was sharp ; 
the young Prince sighed deeply as he looked upon the counte- 
nance of the majestic swine; — he thought of his royal father, 
and his eyes were bedewed with tears. 

“ This sagacious pig was fond of bathing in rich, moist mud. 
Not in summer as common pigs do now, to cool themselves, 
and did even in those distant ages (which is a proof that the 
light of civilization had already begun to dawn though feebly) 
— ^but in the cold, sharp days of winter His coat was ever so 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


0,Q5 

sleek; and his coraplexioi so clear, that the Prince resolved to 
essay the purifying qualities of the same water that his friend 
resorted to. He made the trial. Beneath that black mud, 
bubbled the hot springs of Bath. lie washed, and was cured, 
llasteiiing to his father’s court, he paid his best respects, and 
returning quickly hither, founded this city, and its famous baths. 

“ He sought the pig with all the ardor of their early friend- 
ship — but, alas I the waters had been his death. lie had 
imprudently taken a bath at too high a temperature, and the 
natural philosopher was no more 1 He was succeeded by Pliny, 
who also fell a victim to his thirst for knowledge. 

‘‘ This was the legend. Listen to the true one. 

“ A great many centuries since, there flourished in great state 
the famous and renowned Lud Hudibras, king of Britain. He 
was a mighty monarch. The earth shook when he walked, he 
was so very stout. His people basked in the light of his 
countenance, it was so red and glowing. He was, indeed, 
every inch a king. And there were a good many inches of 
him too, for although he was not very tall, he was a remark- 
able size round, and the inches that he wanted in height, he 
made up in circumference. If any degenerate monarch of 
modern times could be in any way compared with him, I 
should say the venerable King Cole would be that illustrious 
potentate. 

“ This good king had a queen, who, eighteen years before, 
had had a son, who was called Bladud. He was sent to a 
preparatory seminary in his father’s dominions until he was ten 
years old, and was then dispatched in charge of a trusty mes- 
senger, to a finishing school at Athens ; and as there was no 
extra charge for remaining during the holidays, and no notice 
required previous to the removal of a pupil, there he remained 
for eight long years, at the expiration of which time, the king, 
his father sent the lord chamberlain over, to settle the bill, and 
to bring him home, which the lord chamberlain doing, was 
received with shouts, and pensioned immediately. 

When King Lud saw the Prince, his son, and found he 
had grown up such a fine young man, he perceived at once 
wiiat a grand thing it would be to have him married without 
delay, so that his children might be the means of perpetuating 


/ 


666 THE PICKWICK PAPERS 

the glorions race of Lud down to the very latest ages of the 
world. With this view, he sent a special embassy, composed 
of great noblemen who had nothing particular to do, and 
wanted lucrative employment, to a neighboring king, and 
demanded his fair daughter in marriage for his son, stating at 
the same time that he was anxious to be on the most affec* 
tionate terms with his brother and friend, but that if they 
couldn’t agree in arranging this marriage, he should be under 
the unpleasant necessity of invading his kingdom, and putting 
his eyes out. To this, the other king, (who was the weaker of 
the two) replied that he was very much obliged to his friend 
and brother for all his goodness and magnanimity, and that his 
daughter was quite ready to be married, whenever Prince 
Bladud liked to come and fetch her. 

“ This answer no sooner reached Britain, than the whole 
nation were transported with joy. Nothing was heard on all 
sides but the sounds of feasting and revelry, — except the 
chinking of money as it was paid in by the people to the col- 
lector of the royal treasurers, to defray the expenses of the 
happy ceremony. It was upon this occasion that King Lud 
seated on the top of his throne in full council, rose in the 
exuberance of his feelings, and commanded the lord chief justice 
to order in the richest wines and the court minstrels ; an act of 
graciousness which has been, through the ignorance of tradi- 
tionary historians, attributed to King Cole, in those celebrated 
lines in which his majesty is represented as 

Calling for his pipe, and calling for his pot. 

And calling fur his fiddlers three. 

Which IS an obvious injustice to the memory of King Lud, and 
a dishonest exaltation of the virtues of King Cole. 

“ But in the midst of all his festivity and rejoicing, there was 
one individual present, who tasted not when the sparkling 
Mines M^re poured forth, and who danced not when the min- 
Firels played. This was no other than Prince Bladud himself, 
in honour of whose happiness a whole people were at that very 
moment, straining alike their throats and purse-strings. The 
truth was, that the Prince, forgetting the undoubted right of 
tibe minister for foreign affairs to fall in love on his behalf, had. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


567 


contrary to every precedent of policy and diplomacy, already 
fallen in love on his own account, and privately contracted 
himself unto the fair daughter of a noble Athenian. 

“ Here we have a striking example of one of the manifold 
advantages of civilization and refinement. If the Prince had 
lived in later days, he might at once have married the object of 
his father's choice, and then set himself seriously to work, to 
relieve himself of the burden which rested heavily upon him. 
He might have endeavoured to break her heart by a systematic 
course of insult and neglect ; or, if the spirit of her sex, and a 
proud consciousness of her many wrongs had upheld her, under 
this ill-treatment, he might have sought to take her life, and so 
get rid of her effectually. But neither mode of relief suggested 
itself to Prince Bladud — so he solicited a private audience, and 
told his father. 

“ It is an old prerogative of kings to govern everything but 
their passions. King Lud flew into a frightful rage, tossed 
his crown up to the eeiling, and caught it again — for in those 
days kings kept their crowns on their heads, and not in the 
Tower — stamped the ground, rapped his forehead, wondered 
why his own flesh and blood rebelled against him, and, finally, 
calling in his guards, ordered the Prince away to instant con- 
finement in a lofty turret — a course of treatment which the 
kings of old very generally pursued towards their sons when 
their matrimonial inclinations did not happen to point to the 
same quarter as their own. 

“When Prince Bladud had been shut up in the lofty turret 
for the greater part of a year, with no better prospect before 
his bodily eyes than a stone wall, or before his mental vision 
than prolonged imprisonment, he naturally began to ruminate 
on a plan of escape, which after months of preparation he 
managed to accomplish ; considerately leaving his dinner knife 
in the heart of his gaoler, lest the poor fellow (who had a family) 
should be considered privy to his flight, and punished accord- 
ingly by the infuriated king. 

“ The monarch was frantic at the loss of his son. He knew 
not on whom to vent his grief and wrath, until fortunately 
bethinking hiiiiself of the Lord Chamberlain who had brought 
him home, he struck off his pension and his head togetheT. 


b68 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


Mean wnile, the young Prince effectually disguised, wandered 
on foot through his father’s dominions, cheered and supported 
in all his hardships by sweet thoughts of the Athenian maid, 
who was the innocent cause of his weary trials. One day he 
stopped to rest in a country village ; and seeing that there were 
gay dances going forward on the green, and gay faces passing 
to and fro, ventured to inquire of a reveller who stood near him, 
the reason for this rejoicing. 

“ ‘ Know you not, 0 stranger,’ was the reply, ‘ of the recent 
proclamation of our gracious king V 

“ ‘ Proclamation I No. What proclamation ?’ rejoined the 
Prince — for he had travelled along the bye and little frequented 
ways, and knew nothing of what had passed upon the public 
roads such as they were. 

“‘Why,’ replied the peasant, ‘the foreign lady that our 
Prince wished to wed, is married to a foreign noble of her own 
country ; and the king proclaims the fact, and a great public 
festival besides ; for now of course. Prince Bladud will come 
back and marry the lady his father chose, who they say is as 
beautiful as the noon-day sun. Your health. Sir. God save 
the King.’ 

“ The Prince remained to hear no more. He fled from the 
spot, and plunged into the thickest recesses of a neighboring 
wood. On, on he wandered, night and day, beneath the blaz- 
ing sun, and the cold pale moon ; through the dry heat of noon, 
and the damp cold of night ; in the grey light of morn, and 
the red glare of eve. So heedless was he of time or object, 
that being bound for Athens, he wandered as far out of his way 
as Bath. 

“ There was no city where Bath stands, then. There was no 
vestige of human habitation, or sign of man’s resort, to bear 
the name; but there was the same noble country, the same 
broad expanse of hill and dale, the same beautiful channel 
stealing on, far away ; the same lofty mountains which, like the 
troubles of life, viewed at a distance, and partially obscured by 
the bright mist of its morning, lose their ruggedness and 
asperity, and seem all ease and softness. Moved by the gentle 
beauty of the scene, the Prince sank upon the gr^en turf, and 
bathed his swollen feet in his tears. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 669 

** * Oh said the unhappy Bladud, clasping his hands, and 
fiiournfully raising his eyes towards the sky, ‘ would that my 
wanderings might end here; would that these grateful tears 
with which I now mpurn hope misplaced, and love despised, 
might flow in peace for ever I’ 

“ The wish was heard. It w^as in the time of the heathen 
deities, who used occasionally to take people at their words, 
with a promptness, in some cases extremely awkward. The 
ground opened beneath the Prince’s feet; he sunk into the 
chasm, and instantaneously it closed upon his head for ever, 
save where his hot tears welled up through the earth, and where 
they have continued to gush forth ever since. 

“ It is observable that, to this day, large numbers of elderly 
ladies and gentlemen who have been disappointed in procuring 
partners, and almost as manj young ones who are anxious to 
obtain them, repair annually to Bath to drink the waters, from 
which they derive much strength and comfort. This is most 
complimentary to the virtue of Prince Bladud’s tears, and 
strongly corroborative of the veracity of this legend.” 

Mr. Pickwick yawned several times when he had arrived at 
the end of his little manuscript, carefully refolded, and replaced 
it in the inkstand drawer, and then, with a countenance 
expressive of the utmost weariness, lighted his chamber caudle, 
and v/ith up stairs to bed. 

He stopped at Mr. Bowler’s door, according to custom, and 
knocked, to say good night. 

“ Ah,” said Dowler, “ going to bed ? — I wish I was. Dismal 
night. Windy ; isn’t it ?” 

“Very,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Good night.” 

“ Good night.” 

Mr. Pickwick went to his bed chamber, and Mr. Dowler 
resumed his seat before the fire, in fulfilment of his rash promise 
to sit up till his wife came home. 

There are few things more worrying than sitting up for 
somebody, especially if that somebody be at a party. You 
cannot help thinking how quickly the time passes with them, 
which drags so heavily with you ; and the more you think of 
this, the more your hopes ol their speedy arrival decline 


670 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Clocks tick so loud, too, when yon are sitting up alone, ai d 
you seem — at least we always do — as if you had got an under 
garment of cobwebs on. First, something tickles your riglit 
knee, and then the same sensation irritates your left. You 
have no sooner changed your position, than it comes again in 
the arms ; and when you have fidgeted your limbs into all sorts 
of queer shapes, you have a sudden relapse in the nose, which 
you rub as if to rub it off — as there is no doubt you would, if 
you could. Eyes, too, are mere personal inconveniences, and 
the wick of one candle gets an inch and a half long, while you 
are snuffing the other. These, and various other little nervous 
annoyances, render sitting up for a length of time after every 
body else has gone to bed, any thing but a cheerful amusement. 

This was just Mr. Dowler’s opinion, as he sat before the fire, 
and felt honestly indignant with all |the inhuman people at the 
party, who were keeping him up. He was not put into better 
humor either, by the reflection that he had taken it into his 
head, early in the evening, to think he had got an ache there, 
and so stopped at home. At length, after several droppings 
asleep, and fallings forward towards the bars, and catchings 
backward soon enough to prevent being branded in the face, 
Mr. Dowler made up his mind that he would just throw him- 
self on the bed in the backroom and think — not sleep, of course 

“ I’m a heavy sleeper,” said Mr. Dowler, as he flung himself 
on the bed. “ I must keep awake ; — I suppose I shall hear a 
knock here. Yes. I thought so. I can hear the watchman. 
There he goes. Fainter now though. A little fainter He> 
turning the corner. Ah !” When Mr. Dowler arrived at this 
point, he turned the corner at which he had been so long hesi- 
tating, and fell fast asleep. 

Just as the clock struck three, there were blown into the 
crescent a sedan-chair, with Mrs, Dowler inside, borne by ono 
short fat chairman, and one long thin one, who had had much 
ado all the way to keep their bodiesperpendicular, to say nothing 
of the chair ; but on that high ground, and in the crescent, 
which the wind swept round and round as if it w^ere going to 
tear the paving stones up, its fury was tremendous. They were 
very glad to set the chair down, and give a good round loud 
double-knock at th.c street door. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


671 


They waited some time, but nobody came. 

Servants is in the arms of Porpns, I think,” said the short 
chairman, warming his hands at the attendant link-boy’s torch. 

“ I wish he’d give ’em a squeeze and wake ’em,” observed 
the long one. 

“ Knock again, will you, if you please ?” cried Mr.s. Dowlcr 
from the chair. “Knock two or three times, if you please.” 

The short man was quite willing to get the job over, as soon 
as possible ; so he stood on the step, and gave four or five 
most startling double knocks, of eight or ten knocks a piece, 
while the long man went into the road, and looked up at the 
windows for a light. 

Nobody came. It was all as silent and as dark as ever. 

“Dear me I” said Mrs. Dowler. “ You must knock again, 
if you please.” 

“ There ain’t a bell, is there. Ma’am ?” said the short 
chairman. 

“Yes there is,” interposed the link-boy, “I’ve been a ringing 
at it ever so long.” 

“It’s only a handle,” said Mrs. Dowler, “the wire’s broken.” 

“I wish the servant’s heads wos,” growled the long man. 

“ I must trouble you to knock again, if you please,” said 
Mrs. Dowler with the utmost politeness. 

The short man did knock again several times, without pro- 
ducing the smallest effect. The tall man, growing very impa- 
tient, then relieved him, and kept on perpetually knocking 
double-knocks of two loud-knocks each, like an insane postman. 

At length Mr. Winkle began to dream that he was at a club, 
and that the members being very refractory, the chairman was 
obliged to hammer the table a good deal to preserve order; 
then he had a confused notion of an auction room where there 
were no bidders, and the auctioneer was buying every thing in ; 
and ultimately he began to think it just within the bounds of 
possibility that somebody might be knocking at the street door. 
To make quite certain, however, he remained quiet in bed fdr 
ten minutes or so, and listened ; and when he had counted two 
or three and thirty knocks, he felt quite satisfied, and gave him- 
self a great deal ol credit for being so wakeful. 


672 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ Rap rap — ^rap rap — rap rap — ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, rap,” went 
the knocker. 

Mr. Winkle jumped out of bed, wondering very much what 
could possibly be the matter, and liastily putting on his stock- 
ings and slippers, folded his dressing gown round him, lighted 
a flat candle from the rushlight that was burning in the fire- 
place, and hurried down stairs. 

“ Here’s somebody cornin’ at last, Ma’am,” said the short 
chairman. 

“ I wish I woS behind him vith a bradawl,” muttered the 
long one. 

“Who’s there?” cried Mr. Winkle, undoing the chain. 

“Don’t stop to ask questions, cast-iron head,” replied the 
long man, with great disgust ; taking it for granted that the 
inquirer was a footman : “ open the door.” 

“ Come, look sharp, timber eye-lids,” added the other, en 
couragingly. 

Mr. Winkle, being half asleep, obeyed the command me^ 
ehanically, opened the door a little, and peeped out. The first 
thing he saw was the red glare of the link-boy’s torch. 
Startled by the sudden fear that the house might be on fire, he 
hastily threw the door wide open, and holding the candle 
above his head, stared eagerly before him, not quite certain 
whether what he saw was a sedan chair or a fire engine. At 
this instant there came a violent gust of wind ; the light was 
blown out ; Mr. Winkle felt himself irresistibly impelled on tp 
the steps, and the door blew to, with a loud crash. 

“Well, young man, now you have done it, ’’said the short 
chairman. 

Mr. Winkle, catching sight of a lady’s face at the mndow 
of the sedan, turned hastily round, plied the knocker with all 
his might and main, and called frantically upon the chairman 
to take the chair away again. 

“Take it away, take it away,” cried Mr. Winkle. “Here’s 
somebody coming out of another house ; put me into the chair. 
Hide me — do something with me.” 

All this time he was shivering with cold, and every time hr 
raised his hand to the knocker the wind took the dressing 
gown in a most unpleasant manner. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


673 


“The people are coming down the Crescent now. There 
are ladies with ’em ; cover me up with something. Stand 
before me,” roared IMr Winkle. But the chairmen were too 
much exhausted with laughing to afford him the slightest 
assistance, and the ladies were e\Qry moment approathing 
nearer and nearer. 

Mr. Winkle gave a last hopeless knock ; the ladies were 
only a few doors off. He threw away the extinguished candle 
which all this time he had held above* his head, and fairly 
bolted into the sedan chair where Mrs. Dowler was. 

Now, Mrs. Craddock had heard the knocking and the voices 
at last; and, just waiting to put something smarter on her 
head than her nightcap, ran down into the front drawing-room 
to make sure that it w'as the right party, and threw up the 
window-sash just as Mr. Winkle was rushing into the chair; 
she no sooner caught sight of what was going forward below, 
than she raised a vehement and dismal shriek, and implored 
Mr. Dowler to get up directly, for his wife was running away 
with another gentleman. 

Upon this, Mr. Dowler bounced off the bed as abruptly as 
an India-rubber ball and rushing into the front room, arrived 
at one window just as Mr. Pickwick threw up the other, when 
the first object that met the gaze of both, was Mr. AVinkle bolt- 
ing into the sedan chair. 

“Watchman,” shouted Dowler, furiously; “stop him — hold 
him— keep him tight — shut him in till I come down. I’ll cut 
his throat— give me a knife — from ear to ear, Mrs. Craddock. 
I will I” And, breaking from the shrieking landlady, and from 
Mr. Pickwick, the indignant husband seized a small supper- 
knife, and tore into the street. 

But Mr. Winkle didn’t wait for him. He no sooner heard 
the horrible threat of the valorous Dowler, than he bounced 
out of the sedan quite as quickly as he had bounced in, and 
throwing off his slippers into the road, took to his heels and 
tore round the Crescent, hotly pursued by Dowler and the 
watchman. He kept ahead ; the door was open as he came 
round the second time, he rushed in, slammed it in Dowler's 
face, mounted to his bed-room, locked the door, piled a wash- 
hand-stand-chest of drawers and table against it, and packed 


574 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


up a few necessaries ready for flight with , the first light of 
morning. 

Dowler came up to the outside of the door, avowed, through 
the key-hole, his stedfast determination of cutting Mr. Winkle’s 
throat next day ; and, after a great confusion of voices in tlie 
drawing-room, amidst which tliat of Mr. Pickwick was dis- 
tinctly heard endeavoring to make peace, the inmates dispersed 
to tlieir several bed-chambers, and all was quiet once more. 

It is not unlikely that the inquiry may be made, where Mr. 
Weller was, all tliis time ? We will state where he was, in the 
next chapter. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


HONORABLY ACCOUNTS FOR MR. WELLER’S ABSENCE, BF DESCRI-^ 

BINO A 89IREE TO WHICH HE WAS INVITED AND WENT. — 

ALSO RELATES HOW HE WAS ENTRUSTED BY MR. PICKWICK 

WITH A PRIVATE MISSION OP DELICACY AND IMPORTANCE. 

Mr. Weller,” said Mrs. Craddock, upon the morning of 
this very eventful day, “here’s a letter for you.” 

“ Wery odd that,” said Sam, “ I’m afeerd there must be 
somethin’ the matter, for I don’t recollect any gen’lm’n in my 
circle of acquaintance as is capable o’ writin’ one.” 

“ Perhaps something uncommon has taken place,” observed 
Mrs. Craddock. 

“ It must be somethin’ wery uncommon indeed, as could per* 
duce a letter out o’ any friend o’ mine,” replied Sam, shaking 
his head dubiously ; “ nothin’ less than a nat’ral conwulsion, as 
the young gen’lm’n observed ven he wos took with fits. It. 
can’t be from the gov’ner,” said Sam, looking at the direction 
“ He always prints, I know, ’cos he learnt WTitin’ from the 
large bills in the bookin’ offices. Its a wery strange thing now, 
where this here letter can ha’ come from.” 

As Sam said this, he did what a great many people do when 
they are uncertain about the writer of a note — looked at the 
seal, and then at the front, and then at the back, and then at 
the sides, and then at the superscription ; and, as a last 
resource, thought perhaps he might as well look at the inside, 
and try to find out from that. 

“ It’s wrote on gilt-edged paper,” said Sam, as he unfolded 
it, “ and sealed in bronze vax vith the top of a door-key. 
Now for it.” And with a very grave face, Mr. Weller slowly- 
read as follows : 

“A select company of the Bath footmen presents their com- 
pliiutnits to Mr. Weller, and request the pleasure of his com- 
37 ( 575 ) 


676 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


pany this evening, to a friendly swarry, consisting of a bo W 
leg of mutton with the usual trimmings. The swarry to be un 
table at half past nine o’clock punctually.” 

This was inclosed in another note, which ran thus — 

“Mr. John Smauker, the gentlemen who had the pleasure 
of meeting Mr. Weller at the house of their mutual acquaint- 
ance, Mr. Bantam, a few days since, begs to inclose Mr. Weller 
me uerevvith invitation. Jf Mr. Weller will call on Mr. John 
Smauker at nine o’clock, Mr. John Smauker will have the 
pleasure of introducing Mr. Weller. 

(Signed) “John Smauker.” 

The envelope was directed to blank Weller, Esq., at Mr. 
Pickwick’s ; and in a parenthesis, in the left hand corner, were 
the words “ airy bell,” as an instruction to the bearer. 

“ Veil,” said Sam, “this is cornin’ it rather powerful, this is. 
I never heard a biled leg o’ mutton ealled a swarry afore. I 
wonder wot they’d call a roast one.” 

However, without waiting to debate the point, Sara at once 
betook himself into the presence of Mr. Pickwick, and requested 
leave of absence for that evening, which was readily granted. 
With this permission, and the street-door key, Sam Weller 
issued forth a little before the appointed time, and strolled 
leisurely towards Queen Square, which he no sooner gained 
than he had the satisfaction of beholding Mr. John Smauker 
leaning his powdered head against a lamp post at a short 
distance off, smoking a cigar through an amber tube. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Weller?” said Mr. John Smauker, 
raising his hat gracefully with one hand, while he gently waved 
the other in a condescending manner. “ How do you do. 
Sir ? ” 

“ Why, reasonably conwalessent,” replied Sam. “ How do 
- you find yourself, my dear feller ? ” 

“ Only so so,” said Mr. John Smauker. 

“ Ah, you’ve been a workin too hard,” observed Sam “1 
was fearful you would ; it won’t do, you know ; you must not 
give way to that ’ere uncompromisin’ spirit o’ your’n.” 

“ It’s not so much that, Mr. Weller,” replied Mr. John 
Smauker “as bad wine ; I’m afraid I’ve been dissipating.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


677 


''Oh 1 that’s it, is it ? ” said Sam ; “that’s a wcry bad com- 
plaint, that.” 

“ And yet the temptation, you see Mr. Weller,” observed 
Mr. John Smanker. 

“Ah, to be sure,” said Sara. 

“Pliinp^ed into the very vortex of society, you know, Mr 
Weller,” said Mr, John Smauker with a sigL 

“Dreadful indeed I ” rejoined Sara. 

“But its always the way,” said Mr. John Smauker; “if 
your destiny leads you into public life, and public station, you 
must expect to be subjected to temptations which other people 
is free from, Mr. Weller.” 

“ Precisely what my uncle said, ven he vent into the public 
line,” remarked Sam, “and wery right the old gen’lm’n wos, 
for he drank hisself to death in somethin’ less than a quarter.” 

Mr. John Smauker looked deeply indignant at any parallel 
being drawn between himself and the deceased gentleman in 
question ; but as Sara’s face was in the most immoveable 
state of calmness, he thought better of it, and looked affable 
again. 

“ Perhaps we had better be walking,” said Mr. Smauker, 
consulting a copper time-piece which dwelt at the bottom of a 
deep watch-pocket, and was raised to the surface by means of 
a black string, with a copper key at the other end. 

“ P’raps ve had,” replied Sam, “ or they’ll overdo theswarry, 
and that’ll spile it.” 

“Have you drank the waters, ISFr. Weller ?” inquired his 
companion, as they walked towards High Street 

“ Once,” replied Sam. 

“ What did you think of ’em. Sir ?” 

“I thought they wos particklerly unpleasant,” replied Sam. 

“Ah,” said Mr. John Smauker, “you disliked the killibeat 
taste, perhaps ?” 

“ I don’t know much about ihat ’ere,” said Sam. “I thought 
they’d a wery strong flavor o’ warm flat irons.” 

“That is the killibeat, Mr. Weller,” observed Mr. John 
Smauker, contemptuously. 

Well, if it is, it’s a werr inexpressive word, that’s all,” 
said Sam. “ It may be, but 1 ain’t much in the chimical line 


578 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


myself, so I can^t say.” And here, to the great horror of Mr. 
John Sniauker, Sam Weller began to whistle. 

1 beg you pardon, Mr. Weller,” said ]\Ir. John Smaitker, 
agouizeil at the exceedingly ungenteel sound. “Will you take 
my arm ? ” 

“Thankee, you’re werry good, but I won’t deprive you of 
it,” rei)Iied Sam. “I’ve rather a way o’ puttin’ my hands in 
my pockets, if it’s all the same to you.” As Sam said this, he 
suited the action to the word, and whistled far louder than 
before. 

“ This way,” said his new friend, apparently much relieved 
as they turned down a bye street ; “ we shall soon be there.” 

“ Shall we ? ” said Sam, quite unmoved by the announce- 
ment of his close vicinity to the select footmen of Bath. 

“ Yes,” said Mr. John Smauker. “ Don’t be alarmed Mr. 
Weller.” 

“ Oh, no,” said Sam. 

“You’ll see some very handsome uniforms, Mr. Weller,” 
continued Mr. John Smauker; “and perhaps you’ll find some 
of the gentlemen rather high at first, you know, but they’ll 
soon come round.” 

“ That’s wery kind on ’em,” replied Sam. 

“And you know,” resumed Mr. John Smauker, with an air 
of sublime protection ; “you know, as you’re a stranger, perhaps 
they’ll be rather hard upon you at first.” 

“ They won’t be wery cruel, though, will they ?” inquired 
Sam. 

“ Xo, no,” replied Mr. John Smauker, pulling forth the fo.x’s 
head, and taking a gentlemanly pinch “There are some 
funny dogs among us, and they will have their joke you know ; 
but you mustn’t mind ’em, you mustn’t mind ’em.” 

“I’ll try and bear up agin such a reg’lar knock down ’o 
talent,” replied Sam. 

“That’s right,” said Mr. John Smauker, putting up the fox’s 
head, and elevating his own ; “I’ll stand by you.” 

By this time they had reached a small greengrocer’s shop, 
which Mr. John Smauker entered, followed by Sam, who, the 
moment he got behind him, relapsed into a series of the very 
broadest and unmitigated grins, and manifested other demon- 


THE PICKtVICK PAPERS. 


679 


strations of being in a highly enviable state of inward merri- 
ment 

(,’rossing the greengrocer’s shop, and putting their hats on 
tlie stairs in the little j)assage behind it, they walked into a 
sinail parlor ; and here the full splendor of the scene burst 
upon JNlr. Weller’s view. 

A couple of tables were put together in the middle of the 
potior, covered with three or four cloths of ditferent ages and 
dates of washing, arranged to look as much like one as the 
circunihtaiices of the case would allow. Upon these, were laid 
knives and forks for six or eight people. Some of the knife 
handies were green, others red, and a few more yellow ; and as 
all the lo.ks were Hack, the combination of colors was exceed- 
ingly striking. Plates for a corresponding number of guests 
were warming behind the fender; and the guests themselves 
were wanning before it, the chief and most important of whom 
appeared to be a stoutish gentleman in a bright crimson coat 
with long tails, vividly red breeches, and a cocked hat, who was 
standing with his back to the tire, and liad apparently just 
entered, for besides retaining his cocked hat on his head, he 
carried in his hand a high slick, such as gentlemen of his pro- 
fession usually elevate in a sloping position over the roofs of 
carriages. 

“ Smauker, my lad — your fin,” said the gentleman with the 
cocked hat. 

Mr. Smauker dovetailed the top joint of his right hand little 
finger into that of the gentleman with the cocked hat, and said 
he was charmed to see him looking so w'ell. 

“ Well, they tell me I am looking pretty blooming,” said the 
man with the cocked hat, “ and it’s a wonder too. I’ve been fol- 
lowing our old woman about, two hours a-day for tlie lust fort- 
night, and if a constant contemplation of the manner in which 
she hooks-and-eyes that infernal lavender-colored old gown of 
her’s behind, isn’t enough to throw any body into a low state 
of despondency for life, stop my cpiarter’s salary.” 

At thip, the assembled selections laughed very heartily, and 
one gentleman in a yellow waistcoat, with a coach trimming 
border, whispered a neighbor in green foil smalls, that Tuckle 
was in spirits to-night 


680 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


**By the bye,” said Mr. Tnckle, “ Smanker, my boy yon” — 
The remainder of the sentence was forwarded into Mr. John 
Smauker’s ear, by whisper. 

“ Oh, dear me, I quite forgot,” said Mr. John Smauker. 
‘Gentlemen, my friend Mr. Weller.” 

“ Sorry to keep the fire off you, Weller,” said Mr. Tuckle, 
with a familiar hod. “ Hope you’re not cold, Weller.” 

•‘^^ot by no means, blazes,” replied Sam. “It ’ud be a 
wery chilly subject as felt cold ven you stood opposit. You’d 
save coals if they put you behind the fender in the vatin’ room 
at a public otficH, you would.” 

As this retort appeared to convey rather a personal allusion 
to Mr. TucKle’s crimson livery, that gentleman looked majestic 
for a few secoiuYs, but gradually edging away from the fire, 
broke into a forced smile, and said it wasn’t bad. 

“ Wery much obliged for your good opinion. Sir,” replied 
Sam. “We shall get on by degrees, I des-say. We’ll try a 
better one, by and by.” 

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the arrival 
of a gentleman in orange-colored plush, accompanied by another 
selection in ])urple cloth, with a great extent of stocking. The 
new comers having been welcomed by the old ones, Mr. Tuckle 
put the question that supper be ordered in, which was carried 
unanimously. 

The greengrocer and his wife then arranged upon the table 
a boiled leg of mutton, hot, with caper sauce, turnips, and po- 
tatoes. Mr. Tuckle took the chair, and was supported at the 
other end of the board by the gentleman in orange plush. The 
greengrocer put on a pair of wash-leather gloves to hand the 
plates with, and stationed himself behind Mr. Tackle’s chair. 

“ Harris,” said Mr. Tuckle, in a commanding tone. 

“ Sir,” said the greengrocer. 

“Have you got your gloves on ?” 

“ Yes, Sir.” 

“Then take the kiver off.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

The greengrocer did as he was told, with a show of great 
humility, and obsequiously handed Mr. Tuckle the carving 
knife ; in doing which, he accidentally gaped. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


581 


Wliat do you mean by that, Sir,” said Mr. Tuckle, with 
great asperity. 

“ I beg your pardon, Sir,” replied the crest-fallen greengro- 
cer, “ I didn’t mean to do it. Sir ; 1 was up very late last 
night. Sir.” 

“ I tell you what my opinion of you is, Harris,” said Air. 
Tuckle, with a most impressive air, “you’re a wulgar beast.” 

“ I hope, gentlemen,” said Harris, “ that you won’t be severe 
with, me, gentlemen. I’m very much obliged to you indeed, 
gentlemen, for your patronage, and also for your recommenda- 
tions, gentlemen, whenever additional assistance in waiting is 
required. 1 hope, gentlemen, I give satisfaction.” 

“ Xo, you don’t. Sir,” said Air. Tuckle. “ Very far from it, 
Sir.” 

“We consider you an inattentive reskel,” said the gentleman 
in the orange plush. 

“ And a low thief,” added the gentleman in the green-foil 
smalls. 

“ And an unreclaimable blaygaird,” added the gentleman in 
pnr])le. 

The poor greengrocer bowed very humbly while these little 
epithets were bestowed upon him, in the true spirit of the very 
smallest tyranny ; and when every body had said something to 
show his superiority. Air. Tuckle proceeded to carve the leg of 
mutton, and to help the company. 

This important business of the evening had hardly com- 
menced, when the door was thrown briskly open, and another 
gentleman in a light-blue suit, and leaden buttons, made his 
appearance. 

“ Against the rules,” said Air. Tuckle. “ Too late, too 
late. ” 

“ Xo, no ; positively I couldn’t help it,” said the gentleman 
in blue. “ I apt)eal to the company — an affair of gallantry 
now — an appointment at the theayter.” 

“ Oh, that indeed,” said the gentleman in the orange plush. 

“ Ves ; raly now, honor bright,” said the man in blue. “I 
made a promese to fetch our youngest daughter at half-past 
ten, and she is such an uncaumiuly line gal, that I raly hadn’t 


582 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


the art to diFappiat her. No offence to the present company; 
Sir, l»ut a petlicnt, Sir, — a potticut, Sir, is irrevokeahle.” 

I bej^iii to suspect tlicre’s something in that quarter,” said 
Tuckle, as the new comer took liis seat next Sam. ‘Tve 
remarked once or twice, tliat slie leans very heavy on youi 
shoulder when she gets in and out of the carriage.” 

“ Oh raly, raly, Tuckle, you shouldn’t,” said the man in blue. 
“It’s not fair. I may have said to one or two friends that she 
was a very divine creechiire, and had refused one or two offers 
without any hobvus cause, but — no, no, no, indeed, Tuckle — 
before strangers, too — it’s not right — you shouldn’t. Delicacy, 
my dear friend, delicacy.” And the man in blue, pulling up 
his neckercidef, and adjusting his coat cuffs, nodded and 
frowned as if there were more behind which he could say if he 
liked, but was bound in honor to suppress. 

The man in blue being a light-haired, stiff-necked, free and 
easy sort of footman, with a swaggering air and pert face, had 
attracted IMr. AVeller’s especial attention at first, but when he 
began to come out in this way, Sam felt more than ever dis- 
posed to cultivate his acquaintance; so he launched himself 
into the convervsation at once, with characteristic independence. 

“Your health. Sir,” said Sam. “1 like your conwersation 
much. I think it’s wery pretty.” 

At this the man in blue smiled as if it were a compliment he 
was well used to; but looked approvingly on Sam at the same 
titne, and said he hoped he should be better acquainted with 
him, for without any flattery at all he seemed to have the 
makings of a very nice fellow about him— just the man after 
his own heart. 

“ You’re wery good. Sir,” said Sam. “What a lucky feller 
you are.” 

“ I low (It) you mean ?” incpiired the gentleman in blue. 

*• 'riiai ’ere youmr lady,” replied Sam. “ She knows wot’s 
wot, slie dt)es. Ah, I see.” Mr. Weller closed one eye, and 
ihook his head from side to side in a manner which w’as highly 
gratifying to the personal vanity of the gentleman in blue. 

“ I’m afraid you’re a cunning fellow, JMr. Weller,” said that 
mdividual. 

“ No, no,” said Sam, “ I leave all that ’ere to you. It’s a 


THfl PICKWICK PAPERS. 


583 


great deal more in your way than mine, as the gen^m’n on the 
right side o’ the garden vail said lo the man on the wrong ’un, 
ven the mad bull wos a cumin’ up the lane.” 

“ Well, well, Mr. Weller,” said the gentleman in blue, *' I 
think she has remarked my air and manner, Mr. Weller.” 

“ I should think she couldn’t wery well be off o’ that,” said 
Sam. 

“ Have you any little thing of that kind in hand. Sir ?” 
inquired the favored gentleman in blue, drawing a toothpick 
from his waistcoat pocket. 

“Not exactly,” said Sam. “There’s no daughters at my 
place, else o’ course I should ha’ made up to vun on ’em. As 
it is, I don’t think I can do vith any thin’ under a feraal markis. 
I might take up with a young ooman o’ large property as 
hadn’t a title, if she made wery fierce love to me — not else. ” 

“Of course not, Mr. Weller,” said the gentleman in blue, 
“one can’t be troubled, you know; and we know, Mr Weller 
— we, who are men of the world — that a good uniform must 
work its way with the women, sooner or later. In fact, that’s 
the only thing, between you and 1, that makes the service worth 
entering into.” 

“Just so,” said Sam. “ That’s it, o’ course.” 

When this confidential dialogue had gone thus far, glasses 
were placed round, and every gentleman ordered what he liked 
best, before the public house shut uj). The gentleman in blue and 
the man in orange, who were the chief exquisites of the party, 
ordered “cold srub and water,” but the others, gin and water 
sweet, appeared to be the favorite beverage. Sam called the 
green grocer a “desp’rate willin,” and ordered a large bowl of 

j)uncli two circumstances which seemed to raise him very 

much, in the opinion of the selections. 

“ Gentlemen,” said the man in blue, with an air of the most 
consummate dandyism, “ I’ll give you the ladies; come.” 

“ Hear, hearl” said Sam, “The young missises.” 

Here there was a loud cry of “Order,” and Mr. John 
Smauker, as the gentleman who had uitroduced Mr. Weller 
into that company begged to inform him that the word he had 
just make use of, was unparliamentary. 

“ Which word was that ’ere, Sir ?” inquired Sam. 


584 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“Missises, Sir,” replied Mr. John Smaukcr, T\nth an alarm- 
ing frown. “ VVe don’t recognize such distinctions here.” 

“Oh, wery good,” said Sam ; “then I’ll amend the obserwa- 
tion, and call ’em the dear creeturs, if Blazes vill allow me.” 

Some doubt appeared to exist in the mind of the gentleman 
in the green foil smalls, whether the chairman could be legally 
appealed to, as “ Blazes,” but as the company seemed more dis- 
posed to stand upon their own rights than his, the question was 
not raised. The man with the cocked hat, breathed short, and 
looked long at Sam, but apparently thought it as well to say 
nothing, in case he should get the worst of it. 

After a short silence, a gentleman in an embroidered coat 
reaching down to his heels, and a waistcoat of the same which 
kept one half of his legs warm, stirred his gin and water with 
great energy, and putting himself upon his feet, all at once, by 
a violent ett'ort, said he was desirous of offering a few remarks 
to the company, whereupon the person in tlie cocked hat had no 
doubt that the company would be very happy to hear any 
remarks that tlie man in the long coat might wish to offer. 

“ 1 feel a great delicacy, gentleman, in coming for’ard,” said 
'die man in the long coat, “ having the misforchune to be a 
coachman, and being only admitted as a honorary member of 
these agreeal)Ie swarreys, but 1 do feel myself bound, gentle- 
men — drove into a corner, if I may use the expression — to 
make known an afflicting circumstance which has come to my 
knowledge ; which has happened I may say witliin the soap of 
ray every day contemplation. Gentlemen, our friend Mr. 
Whiflers (every body looked at the individual in orange), our 
friend Mr. Whiffers has resigned.” 

Universal astonishment fell upon the hearers. Each gentle- 
man looked in his neighbor’s face, and then transferred his 
glance to the upstanding coachman. 

“ Von may well be sapparise<l, gentlemen,” said the coach- 
man. “I will not wenchure to state the reasons of this irre- 
pairabel loss to the service, but I will beg Mr. Whiffers to state 
them himself, for the improvement and imitation of his admiring 
friends.” 

The suggestion being loudly approved of, Mr. Whiffers 
explained. He said he certainly could have wished to havo 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


686 


coniinned to hold the appointment which he had jnst resided. 
The uniform was extremely rich and expensive, tlie females of 
the family was most agreeable, find tlie duties of the situation 
was not, he was bound to say, too heavy; the principal service 
that was required of him, being, that he should look cut of the 
hall window as much as possible, in company with another 
gentleman, who had also resigned. lie could have wished to 
have spared that company the painful and disgusting detail on 
which he was about to enter, but as the explanation had been 
demanded of him, he had no alternative but to state, boldly and 
distinctly, that he had been required to eat cold meat. 

It is im])ossible to conceive the disgust which this avowal 
awakened in the bosoms of the hearers. Loud cries of “ shame, 
mingled with groans and hisses, prevailed for a quarter of an 
hour at least. 

Mr. Whilfers then added, that he feared a portion of this 
outrage might be traced to his own forbearing and accommo- 
dating disposition. He had a distinct recollection of having 
once consented to eat salt butter, and he had, moreover, on an 
occasion of sudden sickness in the house, so far forgotten him- 
self as to carry a coal-scuttle up to the second floor. He 
trusted he had not lowered himself in the good opinion of his 
friends by this frank confession of his faults ; and he hoped the 
promptness with which he had resented the last unmanly out- 
rage on his feelings, to which he had referred, would reinstate 
him in their good opinion, if he had. 

Mr. Whifler’s address was responded to, with a shout of admi- 
ration, and the health of the interesting martyr was drunk in a 
most enthusiastic manner; for this, the martyr returned thanks, 
and jirojiosed their visiter, Mr. Weller — a gentleman whom he 
had not the pleasure of an intimate acquaintance with, but vvlio 
was the friend of Mr, John Smauker, which was a sufficient 
letter of recommendation to any society of gentlemen what- 
ever <>’• 'vluu’ever. On this account he should have been dis- 
posed to have given Mr. Weller’s health with all the honors, 
if his friends had been drinking wine, but as they were taking 
spirits just by way of a change ; and as it might be inconvenient 
to cmi)ty a tumbler at every toast, he should propose that the 
honors be understood. 


586 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


At tlic conclusion of tins speech, every body took a sip ont 
of iheir tumblers in honor of Sum; and Sam having ladled 
out, and drank, two full glasses of punch in honor of himself, 
returned thanks in a neat speech. 

“ Wery much obliged to you, old fellers,” said Sam, ladling 
away at the punch in the most miembarrassed manner j)08' 
sible, “for this here compliment; which coinin’ from sich a 
quarter, is wery overwelmin’, I’ve heerd a good deal on yon 
as a body, but I vill say, that I never thought you was sich 
uncommon nice men as I find you air. I only hope you’ll take 
care o’ yourselves, and not compromise nothin’ o’ your diguit v 
which is a wery charmin’ thing to see, when one’s out a walj-in 
and has always made me wery happy to look at, ever since 1 
was a boy about half as high as the brass-headed stick o’ mv 
wery respectable friend. Blazes, there. As to the wictim of 
oppression in the suit o’ brimstone, all I can say of him is, that 
I hope he’ll get just as good a berth as he deserves ; in vicli case 
it’s wery little cold swarry as ever he’ll be troubled wiiii agin.” 

Here Sam sat down with a pleasant smile, and his s])eech 
having been vociferously applauded, the company broke up. 

'‘Wy, you don’t mean to say you’re a goin’, old feller?” 
said Sam Weller to his friend Mr. John Smauk(‘r. 

“ I must indeed,” said Mr. Sinauker ; “ I promised Bantam.” 

“Oh, wery well,” said Sam ; “that’s another thing. B’raps 
he'd resign if you disappinted him. You ain’t a goin’, 
Blazes ?” 

“ Yes, I am,” said the man with the cocked hat. 

“Wot, and leave three quarters of a bowl of punch behind 
you I” said Sam; “nonsense, set down agin.” 

Mr. Tuckle was not proof against this invitation. He laid 
aside the cocked hat and stick which he had just taken up, and 
said he would have one glass just for good fellowship’s sake. 

As the gentleman in blue went home the same way as Mr. 
Tuckle, he was prevailed upon to stop too. When the punch 
was about half gone, Sam ordered in some oysters from the 
greengrocer’s shop; and the effect of both was so extremely 
e.\hilirating, that Mr. Tuckle, dressed out with the cocked hat 
and stick, d«inced the frog hornpipe among the shells on the 
table, while the gentleman in blue played au accompaniiuent 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS, 


687 


upon an ingenious musical instrument formed of a hair comb 
and curl-paper. At last, when the punch was all gone, and the 
night nearly so, they sallied forth to see each other home. j\Ir. 
Tuckle no sooner got into the open air, than he was seized 
with a .sudden desire to lie on the curb-stone ; Sam thought it 
would be a pity to contradict him, and so let him have his own 
way. As the cocked hat w’ould have been s})oiled if left there, 
Sam very considerately flattened it down on the head of the 
gentleman in blue, and putting the big stick in his hand, 
projiped him up against his own street door, rang the bell, and 
walked quietly home. 

At a much earlier hour next morning than his usual time of 
rising, Mr. Pickwick walked down stairs completely dressed, 
and rang the bell. 

“Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller appeared iu 
reply to the summons, “shut the door.” 

Mr. Weller did so. 

“ There was an unfortunte occurrence here, last night, Sam,” 
said Mr. Pickwick, “ which gave Mr. Winkle some cause to 
apprehend violence from Mr. Dowler.” 

“ So Pve heerd from the old lady down stairs. Sir,” replied 
Sam. 

“ And Pm sorry to say, Sara,” continued Mr. Pickwick, with 
a most perplexed countenance, “ that iu dread of this violence, 
Mr. Winkle has gone away.” 

“ Gone avay,” said Sam. 

“Left the house early this morning, wdthout the slightest 
previous communication with me,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 
“And is gone, 1 know not where.” 

“ He should ha’ stopped and fought it out. Sir,” replied Sam, 
contemptuously. “It wouldn’t take much to settle that ’ere 
Dowler, Sir.” 

“Well, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, “I may have my doubts 
of his great bravery and determination, also. But however that 
may be, Mr. Winkle is gone. He must be found, Sam — found 
and brought back to me.” , 

“ And s’pose he von’t come back, Sir,” said Sam. 

“ He must be made, Sam,” said Mr. Pick^^^ck. 

“ Who is to do it, Sir ?” inquired Sam with a smile. 


588 


THE Pickwick papers. 


“You,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Wery good, Sir.” 

With these words Mr. Weller left the room, and immediately 
afterwards was heard to shut the street door. In two hours 
time he returned with as much coolness as if he had been dis- 
patched on the most ordinary message ])Ossible, and brought 
the information that an individual in every res))ect answering 
Mr. AVinkle’s descrii)tion had gone over to Pristol that morn- 
ing by the branch coach from the Royal Hotel.” 

“Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, grasping his hand, “you’re a 
capital fellow; an invaluable fellow. You must follow him, 
Sam.” 

“ Cert’nly, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“ The instant you discover him, write to me immediately, 
Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. “ If he attempts to run away from 
you, knock him down, or lock him up. You have my full 
authority, Sam.” 

“ I’ll be very careful. Sir,” rejoined Sam. 

“You’ll tell him,” said Mr. Pickwick, “that I am highly 
excited, highly displeased, and naturally indignant at the very 
extraordinary course he has thought proper to pursue.” 

“ I will. Sir,” replied Sam. 

“ You’ll tell him,” said Pickwick, “that if he docs not come 
back to this very house, with you, he will come back with me, 
for I will come and fetch him.” 

“ I’ll mention that ’ere. Sir,” rejoined Sam. 

“You think you can find him, Sam ?” said Mr. Pickwick, 
looking earnestly in his face. 

“ Oh, I’ll find him if he’s any vere,” rejoined Sam, with great 
confidence. 

“ Very well,” said Mr. Pickwick. “ Then the sooner you go 
the better.” 

With these instructions Mr. Pickwick placed a sum of money 
in the hands of his faithful servitor, and ordered him to start 
for Bristol immediately, in pursuit of the fugitive. . 

Sam put a few necessaries in a carpet bag, and was ready 
for starting. He stopped when he had got to the end of the 
passage, and walking quietly back, thrust his head in at the 
parlor door. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


689 


“ Sir,” whispered Sam. 

Well, Sam,’’ said Mr Pickwick. 

“ I fully understands my instructions, do I, Sir ?” inquired Sam. 
‘‘ I hope so,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“It’s re^’larly understood about the knockin’ down, is it, 
Sir ?” inquired Sam. 

“ Perfectly,” replied Mr. Pickwick. Thoroughly. Do 
what you think necessary. You have my oiders.” 

Sam gave a nod of intelligence, and withdrawing his head 
from the door, set forth on his pilgrimage with a light heart. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


now MR. WINKLE, WHEN HE STEPPED OUT OF THE FRYINO-PAN 
WALKED GENTLY AND COMFORTABLY INTO THE FIRE. 

The ill-starred gentleman who had been the unfortunate 
cause of the unusual noise and disturbance which alarmed the 
inhabitants of the Royal Crescent in manner and form already 
described, after passing a night of great confusion and anxiety, 
left the roof beneath which his friends still slumbered, bound 
he knew not whither. The excellent and considerate feelings 
which prompted Mr. Winkle to take this step can never be too 
highly appreciated or too warmly extolled. “If” — reasoned 
Mr. Winkle with himself — “if this Dowler attempts (as I have 
no doubt he will) to carry into execution his threat of personal 
violence against myself, it will be incumbent on me to call him 
out. He has a wife ; that wife is attached to, and dependent 
on him. Heavens I if I should kill him in the blindness of my 
wrath, what would be my feelings ever afterward.s !” This 
painful consideration operated so powerfully on the feelings of 
the humane young man, as to cause his knees to knock together, 
and his countenance to exhibit alarming manifestations of in* 
ward emotion. Impelled by these rehections, he grasped his 
car[)et-bag, and creeping stealthily down stairs, shut the detest* 
able street-door with as little noise as possible, and wmlked off. 
Bending his steps towards the Royal Hotel, he found a coach 
on the point of starting for Bristol ; and thinking Bristol as 
good a place for his purpose as any other he could go to, 
mounted on the box, and reached his place of destination in 
s.ich time as the pair of horses, who went the whole stage and 
back again twice a day or more, could be reasonably supposed 
to arrive there. 

He took up his quarters at The Bush ; and designing to 
po.stpone any communication by letter with Mr. Pickwick until 
il was probable that Mr. Dowler’s wrath might have in some 
( 590 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


691 


do^rco evaporated, walked forth to view the city, which stmek 
lii)a as being* a sliade more dirty than any place he liad ever 
seen. Having inspected the docks and shipping, and viewed 
the cathedral, he iiupiired his way to Clift«)n, and being directed 
thither, took the route which was pointed out to him. Hut, as 
the pavements of Bristol are not the widest or cleanest upon 
earth, so its streets are not altogether the straightest or least 
intricate ; and Mr. Winkle being greatly puzzled by their mani- 
fold windings and twistings, looked about him for a decent 
shop in which he could apply afresh for counsel and instruction. 

llis eye fell upon a newly-painted tenement which had been 
recently converted into something between a shop and a private 
house, and which a red lamp, projecting over the fan-light of 
the street-door, would have sufficiently announced as the resi- 
dence of a medical i)ractitioner, even if the word “ Surgery ” 
had not been inscribed in golden characters on a wainscot 
ground, above the window of what, in times bygone, had been 
the front parlor. Thinking this an eligible place wherein to 
make his inquiries, Mr. Winkle stej)ped into the little shop 
where the gilt-labelled drawers and bottles were; and finding 
nobody there, knocked with a half-crown on the counter, to 
attract the attention of any body who might happen to be in 
the back parlor, which he judged to be the innermost and 
peculiar sanctum of the establishment, from the re])etiiion of 
the word surgery on the door — painted in white letters this 
time, by way of taking off the sameness. 

At the first knock, a sound, as of persons fencing with fire- 
irons, which had until now been very audible, suddenly ceased; 
and at the second, a studious-looking young gentleman in green 
spectacles, with a very large book in his hand, glided quietly into 
the shop, and stepping behind the counter, requested to know 
the visitor’s pleasure. 

I am sorry to trouble you. Sir,” said Mr. Winkle, “but wil’ 

you have the goodness to direct me to ” 

“ Ila ! ha! ha I’* roared the studious young gentleman, ihr-'-.' ' 
ing the large book into the air, and catching it with great dex- 
terity at the very moment when it threatened to smash to atoms 
all the bottles on the counter. “ Here’s a start!” 

There was, without doubt ; for Mr. Winkle was so very much 

38 


m 


THE PICKWICK PAPE118. 


astonislied at the extraordinary behavior of the medical gen- 
tleman, that he involuntarily retreated towards the door, and 
looked very much disturbed at his strange reception. 

“ What, don’t you know me?” said the medical gentleman. 

Mr. Winkle murmured, in re|)ly, that he had not that pleasure. 

Why then,” said the medical gentleman, “ there are hopes 
f< r me yet ; I may attend half the old women in llristol if I’ve 
de cent luck. Get out, you mouldy old villain, get out.” AVith 
this adjuration, which was addressed to the large book, the 
medical gentleman kicked the volume with remarkable agility 
to the farther end of the shop, and pulling off his green s))ec- 
tacles, grinned the identical grin of Robert Sawyer, Esquire, 
formerly of Guy’s Hospital in the Borough, with a private 
residence in Lant-lane. 

“ You don’t mean to say you weren’t down upon me I” said 
Mr. Bob Sawyer, shaking Mr. AVinkle’s hand with friendly 
warmth. 

“U[)on my word I was not,” replied Mr. Winkle, returning 
the pressure. 

“ I wonder you didn’t see the name,” said Bob Sawyer, 
calling his friend’s attention to the outer door, on which, in 
the same white paint, were traced the words, “Sawyer, late 
Xockemorf.” 

“ It never caught my eye,” returned Mr. "Winkle. 

“ Lord, if I had known who you were, I should have rushed 
out, and caught you in my arms,” said Bob Sawyer; “but 
upon my life, I thought you were the King’s-taxes.” 

“ No I” said Mr. Winkle. 

did, indeed,” responded Bob Sawyer, “and I was just 
going to say that I wasn’t at home, but if you’d leave a mes- 
sage I’d be sure to give it to myself; for he don’t know me, no 
more dojs the Lighting and Paving. I think the Church- 
rates guos^< s who I am, and I know the AVater-works dory 
because I drew a tooth of his, when I first came down hcre.-- 
But come in, come in.” Chattering in this way, Air. Bob Saw- 
yer pushed Air. Winkle into the bai^k room, where, junusing 
hini.self by boring little circular caverns in the chiinu ry-]u‘ece 
with a red-hot poker, sat no less a person than Mr. Benjamin 
Allen. 


THE PICKWICK papers. 




** Well,’’ said Mr. Winkle, “this is indeed a pleasure that 1 
did not expect. What a very nice place you ave here !” 

“ Pretty well, pretty well,” replied Bob Sawyer. “ I paiised, 
soon after that precious party, and my friends came town with 
the needful for this business ; so I put on a black suit of clothes 
and a pair of spectacles, and came here, to look as solemn as I 
could.” 

“ And a very snug little business you have, no doubt ?” said 
Mr. Winkle, knowingly. 

“ Very,” replied Bob Sawyer. “So snug, that at the end 
of a few years you might put all the profits in a wine glass, and 
cover ’em over with a gooseberry leaf.” 

“ You cannot surely mean that ?” said Mr. Winkle. “ The 
stock itself ” 

“Dummies, my dear boy,” said Bob Sawyer; “half the 
drawers have got nothing in ’em, and the other half don’t 
open.” 

“ Nonsense I” said Mr. Winkle. 

« Fact — honor I” returned Bob Sawyer, stepping out into 
the shop, and demonstrating the veracity of the assertion by 
divers hard pulls at the little gilt knobs on the counterfeit 
dra wers. “ Hardly any thing real in the shop but the leeches, 
and they.SiTe secondhand.” 

“ I shouldn’t have thought it I” exclaimed Mr. Winkle, much 
surprised. 

“I hope not,” replied Bob Sawyer, “else where’s the use of 
appearances, eh ? But what will you take I Do as we do ? — 
that’s right. Ben, my fine fellow, put your hand into the cup- 
board, and bring out the patent digester.” 

Mr. Benjamin Allen smiled his readiness, and produced from 
the closet at his elbow a black bottle half full of brandy. 

“ You don’t take water, of course ?” said Bob Sawyer. 

“ ’J’hank you,” replied Mr. AVinkle. “ It’s raZ/icr early : 1 
Ehonld like to qualify it, if you have no objection.” 

‘‘None in the least, if you can reconcile it to your con- 
science,” replied Bob Sawyer ; tossing off, as he spoke, a glass 
of i!)e liquor with great relish, — “Ben, the Pipkin.” 

Mr. Benjamin Allen drew forth from the same hiding-place, 
a small brass pipkin, which Bob Sawyer observed he prided 


594 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Mmseir upon, particulavlj, because it looked so business-like. 
Tlie watex’ in the jirofessional pijikiii havini^ been made to boil, 
in coiir.sf of time, by various little shovelfuls of coal, which 
Mr Bob Sawyer took out of a practicable window-seat, lalxdcd 
“Soda Water,” ]Mr. Winkle adulterated his brandy; and the 
conversation was becoming general, when it was interrupted by 
the entrance into the shop of a boy, in a sober grey livery and 
a gold-laced hat, with a small covered basket under his arm, 
whom Mr. Bob Sawyer immediately hailed w ith, “ Tom, you 
vagabond, come here.” 

The boy presented himself accordingly. 

“ You’ve been stopping to overall the posts in Bristol, you 
idle young scamp !” said Mr. Bob Sawyer. 

“ Xo, Sir, I haven’t,” replied the boy. 

“You had better not I” said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with a threat- 
ening aspect. “Who do you suppose will ever employ a pro- 
fessional man, when they see his boy playing at marbles in the 
gutter, or flying the garter in the horse-road ? Have you no 
feeling for your profession, you groveller ? Did you leave all 
the medicines ?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“ The pow^ders for the child, at the large house wdth the new 
family, and the pills to be taken four times a day at the ill-tem- 
pered old gentleman’s with the gouty leg ?” 

“ Yes, Sir.” 

“Then shut the door and mind the shop.” 

“ Come,” said Mr. Winkle, as the boy retired, “things are 
not quite so bad as you would have me believe, either. There 
is some medicine to be sent out.” 

Mr. Bob Sawyer peeped into the shop to see that no stranger 
w'as within hearing, and leaning forw'ard to Mr. Winkle, said, 
in a low' tone — 

“ Fie leaves it all at the WTong houses.” 

Air. Winkle looked perplexed, and Bob Saw'yer and his 
frieml laughed. 

“Don’t you see ?” said Bob;“he goes up to a house, rings 
the area bell, pokes a packet of medi ine without a direction 
into the servant’s hand, and walks off. Servant takes it into 
the dining-parlor; master opens it, and reads the label, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


595 


‘Draiipht to be taken at bed-time — pills as before — lotion as 
risual — Un’. powder. From Sawyer’s, late Xockcraorfs. Fliysi- 
oiaiis’ j)reseriptions carefully i)repared;’ and all the rest of it; 
Shows it to his wife — she reads the label : it goes down to the 
servants — they read the label. Next day the boy calls : ‘ Very 
Sony — his mistake — immense business — great many parcels to 
deliver — Mr. Sawyer’s compliments — late Nockemorf.’ The 
name gets known, andjhat’s the thing, my boy, in the medical 
way ; bless your heart, old fellow, it’s better than all the adver- 
tising in the world. We have got one four-ounce bottle that’s 
been to half the houses in Bristol, and hasn’t done yet.” 

“ Dear me, I see,” observed Mrs. Winkle : “ what an excellent 
plan I” 

“ Oh, Ben and I have hit npon a dozen such,” replied Bob 
Sawyer, with great glee. “ The lamp-lighter has eighteen- 
pence a week to pull the night-bell for ten minutes, every time 
he comes round ; and my boy always rushes into church just 
before the psalms, when the people have got nothing to do 
but to look about ’em, and calls me out, with horror and dis- 
may pictured on his countenance. ‘ Bless my soul,’ every body 
says, ‘ somebody taken suddenly ill I Sawyer, late Nockemoif, 
sent for. What a business that young man has !’ ” 

At the termination of this disclosure of some of the mysteries 
of medicine, Mr. Bob Sawyer and his friend, Ben Allen, threw 
themselves back in their respective chairs, and laughed bois- 
terously. When they had enjoyed the joke to their hearts’ 
content, the discourse changed to topics in which Mr. Winkle 
was more immediately interested. 

We tljink we have hinted elsewhere, that Mr. Benjamin 
Allen had a way of becoming sentimental after brandy. The 
case is not a peculiar one, as we ourself can testify, having, on 
a few occasions, had to deal with patients who have been 
afflicted in a similar manner. At this precise period of his 
existence, Mr. Benjamin Allen had perhaps a greater predis- 
position to niaudlinism than he had ever known before ; the 
cause of which malady was briefly this He had been staying 
nearly three weeks with Mr. Bob Sawyer ; Mr Bob Sawyer 
was not remarkable for temperance, nor was Mr. Benjamin 
Allen for the ownership of a very strong head; and the con- 


596 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


sequence was, that, during the whole space of time just men- 
tioned, Mr. lienjaniiii Allen had been wavering between 
intoxication partial and intoxication complete. 

“My dear friend,” said Mr. Ben Alien, taking advantage of 
Mr. Bob, Sawyer’s temporary absence behind the counter, 
whither he had retired to dispense some of the secondhand 
leeches, previously referred to, “ my dear friend, I am very 
miserable.” * 

Mr. Winkle professed his heartfelt regret to hear it, and 
begged to know whether he could do any thing to alleviate 
the sorrows of the suffering student. 

“Nothing, my dear boy — nothing,” said Ben. “You recol- 
lect Arabella, Winkle — my sister Arabella — a little girl. 
Winkle, with black eyes — when we w'ere down at Wardle’s 1 
I don’t know whether you happened to notice her — a nice 
little girl. Winkle. Perhaps my features may recal her coun- 
tenance to your recollection ?” 

Mr. Winkle required nothing to recal the charming Ara- 
bella to his mind ; and it was rather fortunate he did not, for 
the features of her brother Benjamin would unquestionably 
have proved but an indifferent refresher to his memory. He 
answered, with as much calmness as he could assume, that he 
perfectly remembered the young lady referred to, and sincerely 
trusted she was in good health. 

“ Our friend Bob is a delightful fellow. Winkle,” was the 
only reply of Mr. Ben Allen. 

“Very,” said Mr. Winkle, not much relishing this close 
connexion of the two names. 

“ I designed ’em for each other ; they were made foi each 
other, sent into the world for each other, born for each other, 
Winkle,” said Mr. Ben Allen, setting down his glass with 
emjdiasis. “ There’s a special destiny in the matter, my dear 
Sir ; there’s only five years’ difference between ’em, and both 
their birthdays are in August.” 

Mr. Winkle was too anxious to hear what was to follow, to 
cx])ress much wonderment at this extraordinary circumstance, 
marvellous as it was ; so Mr. Ben Allen, after a tear or two, 
went on to say, that, notwithstanding all his esteem and re- 
spect and veneration for his friend, Arabella had unaccounia- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


C97 


bly and nndntifully evinced the most determined antipathy to 
his ]K‘rso!i. 

Am< 1 i think,” said Mr. Bon Allen, in conclusion, “ I think 
tliore’s u prior altaclunent.” 

“ II ivn you any idea who the object of it may be ?” asked 
Mr. Winkle, with great trepidation. 

Mr. Ben Allen seized the poker, flourished it, in a warlike 
manner above his liead, inflicted a savage blow on an im- 
aginary skull, and wound up by saying, in a very e.^pressive 
manner, that he only wished he could guess — that was all. 

“ I’d show him what I thought (-f him,” said Mr Ben Allen 
And round went the poker again, more fiercely than before. 

All this, was of course very soothing to the feelings of Mr. 
Winkle, who remained silent for a few minutes; but at length 
mustered up resolution to inquire whether Miss Allen was in 
Kent. 

“No, no,” said Mr. Ben Allen, lading aside the poker, and 
looking very cunning ; I didn’t think Wardle’s e.xactly the 
place for a hcao-strong girl ; so, as I am her natural protector 
and guardian, our parents being dead, I have brought her down 
into this part of the country to spend a few months at an old 
aunt’s, in a nice, dull, close place. I think that will cure her, 
my boy ; and if it doesn’t. I’ll take her abroad for a little while, 
and see what that’ll do.” 

“ Oh, the aunt’s is in Bristol, is it ?” faltered Mr. Winkle. 

“ No, no — not in Bristol,” replied Mr. Ben Allen, jerking 
his thumb over his right shoulder: “over that way — down 
There. But, hush, here’s Bob. Not a word, my dear friend — 
not a word.” 

Short as this conversation was, it roused in Mr. AVinkle the 
highest degree of excitement and anxiety. The suspected prior 
attachment rankled in his heart. Could he be the object of it 
Could it be for him that the fair Arabella had looked scorn- 
fully on the sprightly Bob Sawyer, or had he a successful rival ? 
He determined to see her, cost what it might ; but here an 
insurmountable objection presented itself, for whether the 
explanatory “over that way,” and “down there.” of Mr. Ben 
Alien, meant three miles off, or thirty, or three hundred he 
could in no wise guess. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Hilt lie liad no opportunity of pondering over his love just then, 
for Bob Sawyer’s reinrn was the immediate precursor of the arrival 
of a meat pie from the baker’s, of which that gentleman insisted 
on hih staying to partake. The cloth was laid by an occasional 
charwoman, who officiated in the cajiacity of Mr. Bob Saw* 
y M‘’s housekeeper ; and a third knife and fork having been 
iiorrowed from the mother of the boy in the grey livery lor 
Mr. Sawyer’s domestic arrangements were as yet conducted on 
a limited scale), they sat down to dinner ; the beer being served 
uj), as Mr. Sawyer remarked, “ in its native pewter.” 

After dinner, Mr. Bob Sawyer ordered in the largest mortar 
in the shop, and proceeded to brew a reeking jorum of rum- 
punch therein, stirring up and amalgamating the materials with 
a pestle in a very creditable and apothecary-like manner. Mr. 
Sawyer being a bachelor, had only one tumbler in the house, 
wliich was assigned to Mr. Winkle as a compliment to the 
visitor, Mr. Ben Allen being accommodated with a funnel with 
a cork in the narrow end, and Bob Sawyer contenting himself 
with one of those wide-lipped crystal vessels inscribed with a 
variety of cabalistic characters, in which chemists are wont to 
measure out their liquid drugs in compounding prescriptions. 
These preliminaries adjusted, the punch was tasted, and pro- 
nounced excellent; and it having been arranged that Bob 
Sawyer and Ben Allen should be considered at liberty to fill 
twice to Mr. Winkle’s once, they started fair, with great 
satisfaction and good-fellowship. 

There was no singing, because Mr. Bob Sawyer said it 
wouldn’t look professional ; but to make amends for this depri- 
vation there was so much talking and laughing that it might 
liave been heard, and very likely was, at the end of the street ; 
which conversation materially lightened the hours and improved 
llie mind of Air. Bob Sawyer’s boy, who, instead of devoting 
tiie evening to his ordinary occupation of writing his name on 
»he counter and rubbing it out again, peeped through the glass 
door, and thus listened and looked on, at the same time. 

The mirth of Air. Bob Sawyer was rapidly ripening into the 
furious. Air. Ben Allen was fast relapsing into the sentimental, 
and the punch had well nigh disappeared altogether, when the 
boy hastily running in. announced that a young woman had 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


599 


just come oyer, to say that Sawyer late Xockemorf was wanted 
directly, a couple of streets off. This broke up the party. Air. 
Bob Sawyer understanding the message after some twenty 
repetitions, tied a wet cloth round his head to sober himself, 
and having partially succeeded, put on his green spectacles 
and issued forth. Resisting all entreaties to stay till he came 
back, and finding it quite impossible to engage Air. Ben Allen 
in any intelligible conversation on the subject nearest his heart 
or indeed on any other, Air. AVinkle took his departure and 
returned to the Bush. 

The anxiety of his mind, and the numerous meditations which 
Arabella had awakened, prevented his share of the mortar of 
punch producing that eff'ect upon him which it would have had 
under other circumstances. So after taking a glass of soda- 
water and brandy at the bar, he turned into the coffee-room, 
dispirited rather than elevated by the occurrences of the 
evening. 

Sitting in front of the fire, with his back towards him, was a 
tallish gentleman in a great-coat ; the only other occupant of 
the room. It was rather a cool evening for the season of the 
year, and the gentleman drew his chair aside to afford the new 
comer a sight of the fire. What were Air. AVinkle’s feelings 
when, in so doing, he disclosed to view the face and figure of 
the vindictive and sanguinary Dowler I 

Air. AVinkle’s first impulse was to give a violent pull at the 
nearest bell-handle, but that unfortunately happened to be 
immediately behind Air. Dowler’s head. lie had made one 
step towards it, before he checked himself. As he did so Air. 
Dowler very hastily drew back. 

“ Air AV^inkle, Sir. Be calm. Don’t strike me. I won’t 
bear it. A blow I Never,” said Air. Dowler, looking meeker 
than Air. Winkle had expected in a gentleman of his ferocity. 

“A blow, Sir stammered Air. Winkle. 

•’A blow. Sir,” replied Dowler. “Compose your feelings . 
Sit down Hear me.” 

"Sir,” said Air. AVinkle, trembling from head to foot, “be- 
fore I consent to sit down beside or opposite you, without the 
presence of a waiter, I must be secured by some further under- 
standing. You used a threat against me last mght^ Sir — a. 


000 


THE PICKWICK PAPEPvS. 


dreadful threat, Sir.’^ Here Mr. Winkle turned very pale 
indeed and stopjied short. 

J did,” said l)ov\ ler, with a countenance almost as white as 
Ml Winkle’s. ‘‘Circumstances were sus])ieious. They have 
been explained I respect your bravery. Your reeling is 
upright. Conscious innocence. Thei;c’s my hand. Uiusp 
it.” 

“ Really, Sir,” said Mr. Winkle, hesitating whether to give 
his hand or not, and almost fearing that it was demanded in order 
that he might be taken at an advantage, “ really Sir, ” 

“ I know what you mean,” interposed Dowler. “ You feel 
aggrieved Yery natural. So should I. I was wrong. I 
beg your pardon. Be friendly. F’orgive me.” With this, 
Dowler fairly forced his hand upon Mr. Winkle, and shaking it 
with the utmost vehemence, declared he was a fellow of extreme 
spirit, and he had a higher opinion of him than ever. 

“ Xow,” said Dowler, “ sit down. Relate it all. How did 
you find me? When did you follow? Be frank. Tell me.” 

‘‘It’s quite accidental,” replied Mr. Winkle, greatly per- 
plexed by the curious and unexpected nature of the interview, 
“ Quite ” 

” Glad of it,” said Dowler. “ I woke this morning. I had 
forgotten my threat. I laughed at the accident. 1 felt friendly. 
I said so.” 

“ To whom ?” inquired Mr. Winkle. 

“To Mrs. Dowler. ‘You made a vow,’ said she. ‘I did,’ 
said I. ‘It was a rash one,’ said she. ‘ It was,’ said I. ‘I’ll 
apologise. AVhere is he ?’ ” 

“ Who ?” inquired Mr. Winkle. 

“You,” replied Dowler. “I went down stairs. You were 
not to be found. Pickwick looked gloomy. Shook his head. 
Hoped no violence would be committed. I saw it all. You 
felt yourself insulted. You had gone, for a friend perha})s. 
Possibly for pistols. ‘ High spirit,’ said I. ‘I admire him.’ ” 
Mr. Winkle coughed, and beginning to see how the laud 
lay, assumed a look of importance. 

“I left a note for you,” resumed Dowler. “I said I was 
sorry. So I was. Pressing business culled me here. You 
were not satisfied. You followed. You required a verbal ex- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


601 


planation. You were right. I'ts all over now. My business 
is finished. I go back to-morrow. Join me.” 

As Dowler progressed in his explanation. !Mr. Winkle’s 
countenance grew more and more dignified. The mysterious 
nature of the commencement of their conversation was explained ; 
Mr. Dowler had as great an objection to duelling as himself ; 
in short, this blustering and awful personage was one of the 
most egregious cowards in existence, and interpreting Mr. 
Winkle’s absence through the medium of his own fears, had 
actually taken the same step as himself, and prudently retired 
until all excitement of feelings should have subsided. 

As the real state of the case dawned upon Mr. Winkle’s mind, 
he looked very terrible, and said he was perfectly satisfied ; but 
at the same time, said so, with an air that left Mr. Dowler no 
altevnative but to infer that if he had not oeen, something most 
horrible and destructive must inevitably have occurred. Mr. 
Dowler appeared to be impressed with a becoming sense of 
Air. AVinkle’s magnanimity and condescension; and the two 
belligerents jiarted for the night, with many protestations of 
eternal friendship. 

AI)out half-past twelve o’clock, when Air. Winkle had been 
revelling some twenty minutes in the full luxury of his first 
slfeep, he was suddenly awakened by a loud knocking at his 
chamber-door, which, being repeated with increased vehemence, 
caused him to start up in bed, and inquire who was there, and 
wlial the matter was. 

“ Please, Sir, here’s a young man which says he must see 
you directly,” responded tlie voice of the chamber-maid, 

“ A young man !” exclaimed Air. Winkle. 

“No mistake about that ’ere. Sir,” replied another voice 
th»'oiigh the key-hole ; “ and if that wery same interestin’ 
yonng creetur ain’t let in without delay, it’s very possible as 
his legs vill enter afore his countenance.” The young man 
gave a gentle kick at one of the lower pannels of the door, 
after he had given utterance to this hint, as if to add force and 
point to the remark. 

“ Is that you, Sam ?” inquired Air. Winkle, springing out 
of bed. 

“ Quite uiipossible to identify any gen’lm’n vith any degree 


602 


THE PICKWIJK PAPERS. 


o’ mental satisfaction, villiont lookin’ at him, Sir,” replied the 
voice, dojrniaticallj. 

Mr. Winkle not much doubting who the young man was, 
uidocked the door; which he had no sooner done, than Mr. 
Samuel Weller entered with great precipitation, and carefully 
relocking it on the inside, deliberately putthe key in his waist- 
coat pocket; and, after surveying Mr. Winkle from head to 
foot, said — 

“ You’re a wery humorous young gen’lm’n, you air, Sir.” 

“ What do you mean by this conduct, Sam ?” inquired Mr. 
Winkle, indignantly. “ Get out. Sir, this instant. AVhat do 
you mean. Sir?” 

“ What do I mean,” retorted Sam; “come. Sir, this is rayther 
too rich, as the young lady said veil she remonstrated with the 
pastry-cook, arter he’d sold her a pork-pie as had got nothin’ 
but fat inside. AVhat do I mean ! AVell, that ain’t a bad ’un, 
that ain’t.” 

“ Unlock that door and leave this room immediately, Sir,” 
said Mr. AA’’inkle. 

“I shall leave this here room. Sir, just precisely at the wery 
same moment as you leaves it,” responded Sam, speaking in a 
forcible manner, and seating himself with perfect gravity. “If 
I find it necessary to carry you away, pick-a-paek, o’ course lo 
shall leave it the least bit o’ time possible afore you ; but allow 
me to express a hope as you won’t reduce me to ex-tremities : 
in saying vich, I merely quote what the nobleman said to the 
fractious penny winkle, ven he wouldn’t come out of his shell 
by means of a pin, and he consequently began to be afeerd that 
he should be obliged to crack him in the parlor-door.” At the 
end of his address, which was unusually lengthy for him, Mr. 
AVeller planted his hands on his knees, and looked full in Mr. 
Winkle’s face, with an expression of countenance which showed 
that he had not the remotest intention of being trifled with. 

“ You’re a amiably-disposed young man, Sir, I don’t think,” 
resumed Mr. AA’’eller, in a tone of moral reproof, “to go inwolv- 
ing our precious governor in all sorts o’ fanteegs, ven he’s made 
up his mind to go through ev’ry think for ]>rinciple. You’re 
far worse nor Dodson, Sir; and as for Fogg, 1 consider him a 
boru angel to you I” Mr. Weller having accompanied this 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


coa 

last scntiraent with an emphatic slap on each knee, folded his 
arms with a look of ^^reat distrust, and threw himself back in 
his chair, as if awaiting tlie criminal’s defence. 

“My good fellow,” said Mr. MHiilvle, extending his hand — 
his teeth chattering all the time he spoke, for he had been 
standing during the whole of Mr. AVeller’s lecture in his night- 
gear, “ my good fellow, I respect your attachment to my excel- 
lent friend, and I am very sorry indeed, to have added to his 
causes for disquiet. There, Sam, there I” 

“ \VeIl,” said Sam, rather sulkily, but giving the proffered 
hand a respectful shake at the same time — “ well, so you ought 
to be, and I am very glad to find you air; for, if I can help it, 
I won’t have him jmt upon by nobody, and that’s all about it.” 

“ Certainly not, Sam,” said Mr. Winkle. “There, now go 
to bed, Sam, and we’ll talk further about this, in the morning.” 

“ I’m werry sorry,” said Sam, “ but I can’t go to bed.” 

“Not go to bed!” repeated Mr. Winkle. 

“ No,” said Sam, shaking his head, “ Can’t be done.” 

“ You don’t mean to say you’re going back to-night, Sam?” 
urged Mr, Winkle, greatly surprised. 

“Not unless you particklerly vish it,” replied Sam; “but 
I mustn’t leave this here room. The governor’s orders wos 
peremptory.” 

“ Nonsense, Sam,” said Mr. Winkle, “ I must stop here 
two or three days ; and more than that, you must stop here 
too, to assist me in gaining an interview with a young lady — 
Miss Allen, Sam ; you remember her — whom I must and will 
see before I leave Bristol.” 

But in reply to each of these positions, Sam shook his head 
with great firmness, and energetically replied, “It can’t bo 
done.” 

After a great deal of argument and representation on the 
pa’-t of Mr. Winkle, however, and a full disclosure of what had 
passed in the interview with Dowder, Sam began to waver; and, 
at length a compromise was effected, of which the following 
were the main and principal conditions : — 

That Sam should retire, and leave Mr. Winkle in the undis- 
turbed possession of his apartment, on condition that he had 
permission to lock the door on the outside and carry off the 


904 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


key; provided always, that in the event of an alarm of fire, or 
other dangerous contingency, the door should be instantly 
unlocked. That a letter should be written to Mr. Pickwick 
early next morning, and forwarded per Dowler, requesting his 
consent to Sam and Mr. Winkle’s remaining at Pristol, for the 
purpose and with the object already assigned, and begging a:i 
answer by the next coach; if favorable the aforesaid })arties to 
remain accordingly, and if not, to return to th immediately 
on the receipt thereof. And, lastly, that Mr. Winkle should 
be understood as distinctly pledging himself not t-o resort to 
the window, fire-place, or other surreptitious mi.dt of escaj)e in 
the meanwhile. These stipulations having been c».^icluded. Sum 
locked the door and departed. 

lie had nearly got down stairs, when he st\*^ped, and drew 
the key from his pocket. 

“I quite forgot about the knockin’ down,- said Sam, half 
turning back. “ The governor distinctly said h wos to be done ; 
amazin’ stupid o’ me, that ’ere now. Never mind,” said Sam, 
brightening up, “It’s easily done to-morrow, anyvays.” 

Apparently much consoled by this reflection, Mr. Weller once 
more deposited the key in his pocket, and, descending the 
remainder of the stairs without any fresh visitations of con- 
science, was soon, in common with the other inmaUa of tlie 
house, buried in profound repose. 


CnAPTER XL. 


II a SAMUEL WELLER BEING ENTRUSTED MTTn A MISSION OP T/)VE, 

I’ROCEEDS TO EXECUTE IT ; WITH WHAT SUCCESS WILL HEREIN- 
AFTER APPEAR. 

During tlie whole of next clay, Sam kept Mr. Winkle steadily 
in sijj^ht, fully determined not to take his eyes off him for one 
instant, until he should receive express instructions from the 
fountain head. However disagreeable Sam’s very close watch and 
great vigilance were to Mr. Winkle, he thought it better to bear 
with them, than, by any act of violent opposition, to hazard being 
carried awiiy by force, which Mr. Weller more than once strongly 
nijitcd was the line of conduct that a strict sense of duty prompted 
him to pursue. There is little reason to doubt that Sam would 
very speedily have quieted his scruples by bearing Mr. Winkle back 
to Bath, bound hand and foot, had not Mr. Pickwick’s prompt 
attetition to the note, which Dowler had undertaken to deliver, 
forestalled any such proceeding. In short, at eight o’clock in 
the evening, Mr. Pickwick himself, walked into the coffee-room 
of the Bush tavern, and told Sam with a smile, to his very great 
relief, that he had done quite right, and it was unnecessary for 
him to mount guard any longer. 

“ I thought it better to come myself,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
addressing Mr. Winkle, as Sam disencumbered him of his great 
coat and traveling shawl, “ to ascertain, before I gave my con- 
sent to Sam’s employment in this matter, that you are quits in 
earnest and serious, with respect to this young lady.” 

Serious, from my heart — from my soul I” returned Mr. 
Winkle, with great energy. 

“ Keinember,” said Mr. Pickwick, with beaming eyes, “ w'c 
met her at our excellent and hospitable friend’s, Winkle. It 
would be an ill return to tamper lightly, and without due con- 
sideraticu, with this young lady’s affections. I’ll not allow tlwt. 
Sir — rii not allow it.” 


( 605 ) 


CU6 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“T have no such intention, indeed,” exclaimed ]\rr. TTinhle 
warmly. “ I have considered the matter well for a long lime, 
and I feel that my hap})iness is hound up in her.” 

“That’s wot we call tying it up in a small j)arcel, sir,” inter- 
posed Mr. Weller, with an agreeable smile. 

Mr. Winkle looked somewhat stern at this interruption, and 
Mr. I’ickwick angrily requested his attendant not to jest wiih 
one of the best feelings of our nature ; to which Sam replied, 
“ That he wouldn’t, if he was aware on it ; but there were so 
many on ’em, that he hardly kuow’d which was the best ones 
ven he heered ’em mentioned.” 

Mr. Winkle then recounted what had passed between himself 
and Mr. Ben Allen, relative to Arabella, stated that his object 
was to gain an interview with the young lady, and make a 
formal disclosure of his passion ; and declared his conviction, 
founded on certain dark hints and mutterings of the aforesaid 
Ben, that, wherever she was at present immured, it was some- 
where near the Downs : and this was his whole stock of know- 
ledge or suspicion upon the subject. 

With this very slight clue to guide him, it was determined 
that Mr. Weller should start next morning on an expedition of 
discovery; it w^as also arranged that Mr. Pickwick and Mr. 
Winkle, who were less confident of their powers, should parade 
the town meanwhile, and accidentally drop in upon Mr. Bob 
Sawyer in the course of the day, in the hope of seeing or hearing 
something of the young lady’s whereabout. 

Accordingly, next morning, Sam Weller issued forth upon his 
quest, in no way daunted by the very discouraging prospect 
before him ; and away he walked, up one street and down 
another — we were going to say, up one hill and down another, 
only it’s all up hill at Clifton — without meeting with anything or 
any body that tended to throw the faintest light upon the matter 
in hand. Many were the colloquies into which Sam entered 
with grooms v ho were airing horses on roads, and nursemaids 
who were ai.ing children in lanes; but nothing could Sam 
elicit from either the first-mentioned or the last, which bore the 
slightest reference to the object of his artfully prosecuted in- 
quiries. There were a great many young ladies iu a great many 
houses, the greater part whereof were shrewdly suspected by the 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 5fJ7 

male and female domestics to be deeply attached to somebody, 
or perfectly ready to become so, if opportunity offered. But as 
none among these young ladies was Miss Arabella Allen, the 
information left Sam at exactly the old point of wisdom at which 
he had stood before. 

Sam struggled across the Downs against a good high wind, 
wondering whether it was always necessary to hold your hat on 
with both hands in that part of the country, and came to a shady 
by-place, about which were sprinkled several little villas of quiet 
and secluded appearance. Outside a stable-door at the bottom 
of a long back lane without a thoroughfare, a groom in undress 
was idling about, apparently persuading himself that he was 
doing something with a spade and a wheelbarrow. We may 
remark, in this place, that we have scarcely ever seen a groom 
near a stable, in his lazy moments, who has not been, to a 
greater or less extent, the victim of this singular delusion. 

Sam thought he might as well talk to this groom as to any 
one else, especially as he was very tired with walking, and there 
was a good large stone just opposite the wheelbarrow ; so he 
strolled down the lane, and, seating himself on the stone, opened 
a conversation with the ease and freedom for which he was 
remarkable. 

“ Momin’, old friend,” said Sam. 

“ Arternoon, you mean,” replied the groom, casting a surly 
look at Sam. 

“ You’re wery right, old friend,” said Sam ; “ I do mean arter- 
noon. IIow are you ?” 

Why, I don’t find myself much the better for seeing of you,” 
replied the ill-tempered groom. 

“ That’s wery odd — that is,” said Sam, “ for you look so 
uncommon cheerful, and seem altogether so lively, that it docs 
van’s heart good to see )ou.” 

The surly groom looked surlier still at this, but not sufficiently 
so to produce any effect upon Sam, who immediately inquired, 
with a countenance of great anxiety, whether his master’s name 
was not Walker. 

“ No, it ain’t,” said the groom. 

“ Nor Brown, I s’pose ?” said Sam. 

“ No, it ain’t.” 


608 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

" Nor Yilson 

No ; nor that neither,” said the groom. 

“Yell,” replied Sam, “then I’m mistaken, and he hasn't got 
the honour o’ mj acquaintance, which I thought he had. Don’t 
\ait here out o’ compliment to me,” said Sam, as the groom 
wheeled in the barrow, and prepared to shut the gate. “ Ease 
afore ceremony, old boy : I’ll excuse you. ” 

“ I’d knock your head off for half-a-crowm,” said the surly 
groom, bolting one half of the gate. 

“ Couldn’t afford to liave it done on those terms,” rejoined 
Sam, “ It ’ud be vurth a life’s board vages, at least, to you, and 
’ud be cheap at that. Make my compliments in-doors. Tell 
’em not to vait dinner for me, and say they needn’t mind puttin’ 
any by, for it’ll be cold afore I come in.” 

In reply to this, the groom, waxing very 'WToth, muttered a 
desire to damage somebody’s head ; but disappeared ^vithout 
carrying it into execution, slamming the door angrily after him, 
and wholly unheeding Sam’s affectionate request, that he would 
leave him a lock of his hair, before he went. 

Sam continued to sit on the large stone, meditating upon wha 
was best to be done, and revolving in his mind a plan for knock 
ing at all the doors within five miles of Bristol, taking them at 
a hundred and fifty or two hundred a day, and endeavoring to 
find Miss Arabella by that expedient, when accident all of a 
sudden threw in his way what he might have sat there for a 
twelvemonth and yet not found without it. 

Into the lane where he sat, there opened three or four garden 
gates, belonging to as many houses, which though detached from 
each other, were only separated by their gardens. As these 
were large and long, and well planted with trees, the houses 
were not only at some distance off, but the greater part of them 
were nearly concealed from view. Sam was sitting with Ins 
eyes fixed upon the dust-heap outside the next gate to that by 
which the groom had disappeared, profoundly turning over in 
liis mind the difficulties of his present undertaking, when the gate 
opene<l, and a female servant came out into the Ian* to shake 
some bed-side carpets. 

Sam was so very busy with his own thoughts, that it is pro- 
bable he would have taken no more notice of the young woman 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 60» 

than just raising his hea*! and remarking that she had a rery 
neat and j)retty tignre, if liis feelings of gallantry had not been 
most strongly roused by observing that she had no one to help 
her. and that the carpets seemed too heavy for her single 
strength. Mr. Weller was a gentleman of great gallantry in his 
own way, and he no sooner remarked this circumstance than he 
hastily rose from the large stone, and advanced towards her. 

“ My dear,” said Sam, sliding up with an air of great respect, 
“ You’ll spile that wery pretty flgure out o’ all perportiou if you 
shake them carpets by yourself. Let me help you.” 

The young lady, who had been coyly aflecting not to know 
that a gentleman was so near, turaed round as Sam spoke — no 
doubt indeed she said go, afterwards) to decline this offer from 
a perfect stranger — when instead of speaking, she started back, 
and uttered a half-suppressed scream Sam was scarcely less 
staggered, for in the countenance of the well-shaped female 
servant, he beheld the very features of his Valentine — the pretty 
housemaid from Mr. Nupkins’. 

“ Wy, Mary my dear !” said Sam. 

“ Lauk, Mr. Weller,” said Mary, “ how you do frighten one !” 

Sam made no verbal answer to this complaint, nor can we 
precisely say what reply he did make. We merely know that 
after a short pause Mary said, “ Lor do adim Mr. Weller,” and 
that his hat had fallen off a few moments before — from both of 
which tokens we should be disposed to infer that one kiss, or 
more, had passed between the parties. 

“ Why, how did you come here ?” said Mary, when the con- 
versation to which this interruption had been offered, was 
resumed. 

“ O’ course I came to look arter you, my darlin’,” replied Mr. 
Weller ; for once permitting his passion to get the better of his 
veracity 

“ And how did you know I was here ?” inquired Mary. 
•' Who could have told you that I took another service at Ips- 
wich, and that they afterwards moved all the way here ? Who 
could have told you that, Mr. Weller ?” 

“ Ah, to be sure,” said Sam with a cunning look, that’s the 
pint. Who could ha’ told me ?” 

“It wasn’t Mr, Muzzle, was it?” inquired Mary. 


610 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** Oh no,” replied Sam, with a solemn shake of the head, ** it 
warn’t him.” 

It must have been the cook,” said Mary. 

“ O’ course it must,” said Sam. 

“ W( 11, I never heard the like of that !” exclaimed Mary. 

“No more did I,” said Sam. “But Mary my dear — ” here 
Sam’s manner grew extremely affectionate — “ Mary my dear, 
I’ve got another affair in hand as is wcry pressin’. There’s 
one o’ my governor’s friends — Mr. Winkle — ^you remember 
him.” 

“ Him in the green coat ?” said Mary. “ Oh yes, I remem- 
ber him.” 

“Weil,” said Sam, “he’s in a horrid ^tate o’ love j reg’larly ; 
comfoozled, and done over vith it.” 

“ Lor I” interposed Mary. 

“ Yes,” said Sam ; “ but that’s nothin’ if we could only find 
out the young ’ooman” — and here Sam, with many digressions 
upon the personal beauty of Mary, and tlie unspeakable tortures 
he had experienced since he last saw her, gave a faithful account 
of Mr. Winkle’s present predicament. 

“ Well*” said Mary, “ 1 never did I” 

“O’ course not,” said Sam, “and nobody never did, nor 
never vill neither ; and here am I walkin’ about like the wan- 
derin’ Jew — a sportin’ character you have perhaps heerd on, 
Mary my dear, as wos alvays doin’ a match agin’ lime, and 
never vent to sleep — looking arter this here Miss Arabella 
Allen.” 

“ Miss who ?” said Mary, in great astonishment. 

“ Miss Arabella Allen,” said Sam. 

“ Goodness gracious I” said Mary, pointing to the garden- 
door which the sulky groom had locked after him. “ Why it’s 
that very house ; she’s been living there these six weeks. Their 
upper housemaid which is lady’s maid too, told me all about it 
over the wash-hc use palin’s before the family was out of bed, 
one morn in’.” 

“ Wot, the wery next door to you ?” said Sam. 

“ The very next,” replied Mary. 

Mr. AVeller was so deeply overcome at receiving this intelli- 
gence that he found it absolutely necessary to cling to his. fair 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


611 


informant for support, and divers little love passages had 
passed between them, before lie was sufficiently collected to 
return to the siilyect. 

“ Veil,” said Sam at length, “if this don’t beat cock-figlitiu’, 
nothin’ never vill, as the Lord Mayor said ven the chief secre- 
tary o’ state proposed his missis’s health artcr dinner. That 
wery next house ! Wy, I’ve got a message to her as I’ve been 
a try in’ all day to deliver.” 

“Ah,” said Mary, “but you can’t deliver it now, because she 
only walks in the garden in the evening, and then only for a 
very little time ; she never goes out without the old lady.” 

Sam ruminated for a few moments, and finally hit upon the 
following plan of operations ; he should return just at dusk — 
the time at which Arabella invariably took her walk — and being 
admitted by Mary into the garden of the house to which she 
belonged, contrive to scramble up the wall, beneath the over- 
hanging boughs of a large j)ear-tree, which would elfectually 
screen him from observation ; there deliver his message, and 
arrange, if jmssible, an interview on behalf of Mr. Winkle for 
the ensuing evening at the same hour. Having made this 
arrangement with great dispatch, he a.ssisted Mary in the long- 
deferred occupation of shaking the carpets. 

It is not half so innocent a thing as it looks, that shaking 
little pieces of carpet — at least, there may be no great harm in 
the shaking, but the folding is a very insidious process. So 
long as the shaking lasts, and the two j)arties are kept the 
carpet’s length apart, it is as innocent amusement as can well 
be devised, but when the folding begins, and the distance be- 
tween them gets gradually les.sened from one-half its former 
length to a quarter, and then to an eighth, and then to a six- 
teenth, and then to a thirty-second if the carpet be long enough, 
it becomes dangerous. We do not know to a nicety how many 
])ieces ^f carpet were folded in this instance, 1 ut we can venture 
to state that as many })icces as there were, so many times did 
Sam kiss the i»retty housemaid. 

Mr. Weller regaled himself with moderation at the nearest 
tavern until it was nearly dusk, and then returned to tlie lane 
without the thoroughfare. Having been admitted into the 
garden by Mary, and received from that lady sundry admoni* 


612 


THE PICKWICK PAPEBS. 


t*0D8 concerning the safety of his limbs and neck, Sara monnted 
into the ]>ear-tree, to wait until Arabella should come in siglit. 

He waited so long without this anxiously-expected event 
occurring, that he began to think it was not going to take 
place at all, when he heard light footsteps upon the gravel, and 
iumiediately afterwards beheld Arabella walking pensively down 
the garden. As soon as she came nearly below the tree, Sara 
began, by way of gently indicating his presence, to make sun- 
dry diabolical noises similar to those which would probably be 
natural to a person who had been afflicted with a combination 
of inflammatory sore throat, croup, and hooping-cough, from 
his earliest infancy. 

Upon this, the young lady cast a hun’ied glance towards the 
spot from whence the dreadful sounds ])roceeded ; and her y>re- 
vious alarm being not at all diminished when she saw a man 
among the branches, she w-ould most certainly have decamped, 
and alarmed the house, had not fear fortunately deprived her 
of the power of moving, and caused her to sink down on a 
garden-seat which happened by good luck to be near at hand. 

“ She’s a goin’ off,” soliloquised Sam, in great perplexity. 
“Wot a thing it is, as these here young creeturs will go a 
faintin’ avay just ven they oughtn’t to. Uere, young ’ooraan, 
Miss Sawbones, Mrs. Vinkle, don’t.” 

Whether it w^as the magic of Mr. AVinkle’s name, or the 
coolness of the open air, or some recollection of Mr. Weller’s 
voice, that revived Arabella, matters not. She raised her 
head, and languidly inquired, “ Who’s that, and what do you 
want ?” 

“Hush,” said Sam, swinging himself on to the wall, and 
crouching there in as small a compass as he could reduce him- 
self to, “only me. Miss, only me.” 

“Mr. Pickwick’s servant!” said Arabella, earnestly. 

“The wery same. Miss,” replied Sam. “ Here’s Mr. Vinkle 
rig’larly sewed up vith desperation. Miss.” 

“Ah I” said Arabella, drawing nearer the wall. 

“ Ah indeed,” said Sam. “ Ve thought ve should ha’ been 
obliged to straight-veskit him last night ; he’s been a ravin’ all 
day, aad he says if he can’t see you afore to-morrow night’s 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


613 


over, he vishes he may be somethin’-unpleasanted if he don’t 
drownd liisself.” 

“Oh no, no, Mr. Weller,'’ said Arabella, claspin<? her hands. 

“That's wot he says. Miss,” replied Sam coolly. ^ lie’s a 
a man of his word, and it’s my opinion he’ll do it. Miss. He’s 
heerd all about you from the Sawbones in barnacles.” 

“ From ray brother I” said Arabella, having some faint recog- 
nition of Sara’s description. 

“ I don’t rightly know which is your brother. Miss,” replied 
Sam. “ Is it the dirtiest vun of the two ?” 

“Yes, yes, Mr. Weller,” returned Arabella, “go on. Make 
haste, pray.” 

“Yell, Miss, said Sam, “he’s heerd all about it from him; 
and it’s the gov’nor’s opinion that if you don’t see him wery 
quick, the Sawbones as we’ve been speakin’ on, ’ull get as 
much extra lead in his head as’ll rayther damage the devvelop- 
ment o’ the orgins if they ever put it in spirits afterwards.” 

“ Oh, what can I do to prevent these dreadful quarrels,” 
exclaimed Arabella. 

“ It’s the suspiemn of a priory ’tachment as is the cause of it 
all,” replied Sam. “You’d better see him. Miss.” 

“But how? — where?” cried Arabella. “I dare not leave 
the house alone. My brother is so unkind, so unreasonable. 
I know how strange my talking thus to you must appear, Mr. 
Weller, but I am very, very unhappy — ” and here poor Ara- 
bella wept so bitterly, that Sam grew chivalrous. 

“It may seem wery strange talkin’ to me-about these here 
affairs. Miss,” said Sara with great vehemence ; “ but all I can 
say is, that I’m not only ready but villin’ to do anythin’ 
as’ll make matters agreeable ; and if chucking either o’ them 
Sawbones out o’ winder ’ull do it, I’m the man.” As Sam 
Weller said this, he tucked up his wristbands, at the imminent 
hazard of falling off the wall in so doing, to intimate his readi- 
ness to set to work immediately. 

Fluttering as these professions of good feeling were, Ara- 
bella resolutely declined (most unaccountably as Sam thought,) 
to avail herself of them. For some time she strenuously 
refused to grant Mr. Winkle the interview Sara had so patheti- 


C14 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


cally roqncstx*d ; but at length, when the conversation threat- 
ened to be iiiteiTuptccl by the unwelcome arrival of a third 
party, she Inirriedly gave him to understand, with many pro- 
fessions of gratitude, that it was barely possible she might be 
in tlie ganien an hour later, next evening. Sam understood 
this perfectly well, and Arabella, bestowing upon him one of 
lier sweetest smiles, tripped gracefully away, leaving Mr. Weller 
ill a state of very great admiration of her charms, both per- 
sonal and mental. 

Having descended in safety from the wall, and not forgotten 
to devote a few moments to his own particular business in the 
same department, Mr. Weller then made the best of his way 
back to the Bush, where his prolonged absence had occasioned 
much speculation and some alarm. 

“ We must be careful,” said Mr. Pickwick, after listening 
attentively to Sam’s tale, “ not for our own sakes, but for that 
of the young lady. We must be very cautious.” 

“ WeP^ said Mr. Winkle, with marked emphasis. 

Mr. Pickwick’s momentary look of indignation at the tone 
of this remark, subsided into his characterktic expression of 
benevolence, as he replied — 

** We, sir! I shall accompany you.” 

** You !” said ^Ir. Winkle. 

“1,” rejilied Mr. Pickwick, mildly. “In affording you this 
interview, the young lady has taken a natural, ))erhaps, but still 
a very imprudent stej). If I am present at the meeting — a 
mutual friend, who is old enough to be the father of both par- 
ties — the voice of calumny can never be raised against her, 
hereafter.” 

Mr. Pickwick’s eyes lightened with honest e.xultation at his 
own foresight, as he spoke thus. ]Mr. Winkle was touched at 
this little trait of his delicate respect for the young prot/yee of 
his friend, and took his hand with a feeling of regard akin to 
venenition. 

“ You shall go,” said !Mr. Winkle. 

“1 will,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Sara have my great-coat 
an 1 shawl ready, and order a conveyance to be at the door to- 
morrow evening, rather earlier than is absolutely necessary, 
in order that we may be in good time.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


616 


Mr. Weller touched his hat, as an earnest of liis obedience, 
and withdrew to make all needful preparations for tlie txi)edition. 

The coach was punctual to the time appointed ; and Mr. 
Weller, after duly installing Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle 
inside, took his seat on the box by the driver. They alighted, 
as had been agreed on, about a quarter of a mile from the place 
of rendezvous, and desiring the coachman to await their retuni, 
proceeded the remaining distance on foot. 

It was at this stage of the undertaking that Mr. Pickwick, 
with many smiles and various other indications of great self- 
satisfaction, produced from one of his coat pockets a dark 
lantern, with which he had specially provided himself for the 
occasion, and the great mechanical beauty of which he proceeded 
to explain to Mr. AVinkle, as they walked along to the no small 
suqirise of the few stragglers they met. 

“ I should have been the better for something of this kind in 
my last garden expedition at night ; eh, Sam said Mr. Pick- 
wick, looking good-humoredly round at his follower, who was 
trudging behind. 

“Werynice things, if they’re managed properly. Sir,” re- 
plied Mr. Weller; “but when you don’t want to be seen, I think 
they’re rather more useful arter the candle’s gone out, than ven 
iPs alight.’^ 

Mr. Pickwick appeared struck by Sam’s remark, for he put 
the lantern into his pocket again, and they walked on in 
silence. 

“ Down here. Sir,” said Sam. “ Let me lead the vay. This 
is the lane. Sir.” 

Down the lane they went, and dark enough it was. Mr. 
Pickwick brough out the lantern once or twice as they groped 
their way along, and threw a very brilliant little tunnel of light 
before them, about a foot in diameter. It was very pretty to 
look at, but seemed to have the effect of rendering surrounding 
objects rather darker than before. 

At length they an'ived at the large stone, and here Sam 
recommended his master and Mr. AVinkle to seat themselves, 
while he reconnoitred, and ascertained whether Mary was yet in 
waiting. 

After an absence of five or ten minutes, Sam returned, to saj 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


6ie 

that the gate waf? opened, and all quiet. Following him with 
stealthy tread, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle soon found them- 
selves in tlie garden. Here everybody said, “ Mush !” a good 
many times ; and that being done, no one seemed to have any 
very distinct apprehension of what was to be done ne.\t. 

“ Is Miss Allen in the garden yet, Mary inquired Mr. 
Winkle, much agitated. 

I don’t know, Sir,” replied the pretty housemaid. “ Tho 
best thing to be done, Sir, will be for Mr. Weller to give you a 
hoist up into the tree, and perhaps Mr. Pickwick will have the 
goodness to see that nobody comes up the lane, while I watch at 
the other end of the garden. Goodness gracious, what’s that ?” 

“ That ’ere blessed lantern ’ull be the death on us all,” 
exclaimed Sam, ])eevishly. “ Take care wot you’re a doin’ on, 
Sir, you’re a sendin’ a blaze o’ light, right into the back parlor 
vinder.” 

“ Dear me I” said Mr. Pickwick, turning hastily aside, “ I 
didn’t mean to do that.” 

“ Now it’s in the next house. Sir,” remonstrated Sam. 

“ Bless my heart I” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, turning round 
agaiji, 

“ Now it’s in the stable, and they’ll tlwnk the place is a’ fire,” 
said Sam. “ Shut it up. Sir, can’t you ?” 

“ It’s the most extraordinary lantern I ever met with, in all my 
life !” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, greatly bewildered by the effects 
he had so unintentionally produced. “ I never saw such a 
pow'erful reflector.” 

“ It ’ll be vim too powerful for us, if you keep blazin’ avay in 
that manner, Sir,” replied Sam, as Mr. Pickwick, after various 
unsuccessful efforts, managed to close the slide. “ There’s the 
young lady’s footsteps. Now% Mr. Tinkle, Sir, up vith you.” 

“ Stoj», stop I” said Mr. Pickwick, “ I must speak to her 
first. Help me up, Sam.” 

Gently, Sir,” said Som, planting his head against the w'all, 
and making a platform of his back. “ Step a top o’ that ’ero 
flower-]>ot, Sir. Now^ then, up vith you.” 

“ I’m afraid I shall hurt you, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Never mind me, Sir,” replied Sam. “ Lend him a hand, 
Mr. Vuikle, Sir. Steady, Sir, steady ; that’s the time o’ day.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


617 


^9 Snni spoke, 'Mv. Pickwick, by exertions almost snper- 
natural in a ^-cnllcman of hisyeai-s and wei<j^lit, contrived to g:el 
U])on Sam’s back ; and Sam gently raising himself up, and Mr. 
Pickwick holding on fast by the top of the wall, while Mr. 
M'inkle clasped him tight by the legs, they contrived by these 
means to bring his spectacles just above the level of the coping. 

“ My dear,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking over the wall, and 
ratching sight of Arabella, on the other side, “ Don’t be fright- 
ened, my dear, ’tis only me.” 

“ Oh pray go away, Mr. Pickwick,” said Arabella. “ Tell 
them all to go away, I am so dreadfully frightened. Dear, dear 
Mr. Pickwick, don’t stop there. You’ll fall down and kill your- 
self, I know you will.” 

“ Now ])ray don’t alarm yourself, my dear,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick, soothingly. “ There is not the least cause for fear, I assure 
you. Stand firm, Sam,’^ said Mr. Pickwick, looking down. 

“ All right. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. “ Don’t be longer than 
you can conweniently help. Sir. You’re rayther heavy.” 

“ Only another moment, Sam,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“ I merely wished you to know, my dear, that I should not 
have allowed my young friend to see you in this clandestine way, 
if the situation in which you are placed had left him any alter- 
native ; and lest the impropriety of this step should cause you 
any uneasiness, my love, it may be a satisfaction to you, to know 
that I am present ; that’s all, my dear.” 

“Indeed, Mr. IMckwick, I am very much obliged" to you for 
your kindness and consideration,” replied Arabella, drying her 
tears with her handkerchief. She would probably have said 
much more, had not Mr. Pickwick’s head disappeared with great 
swiftness, in consequence of a false step on Sam’s shoulder, 
which brought him suddenly to the ground. He was u]) again 
in an instant, however; and bidding Mr. Winkle make haste and 
get the interview over, ran out into the lane to keep watch, with 
all the courage and ardor of a youth. Mr. Winkle himself, 
insjhred I>y the occasion, was on the wall in a moment, merely 
pausing to re(|uest Sam to be carefid of his master. 

“ I’ll take care on him, Sir,” replied Sam. “Leave him to me." 

“ Where is he ? What’s h3 doing, Sam P inquired Mr. 
Winkle. 


GIB 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** Bless his old gaiters,” rejoined Sam, looking ont at the 
garden-door, “ He’s a kee])in’ guard in the lane vith thai ’ere 
dark lantern, like a amiable Guy Fawkes. I never see sneli a 
line crectur in iny daj’S. Blessed if I don’t think his heart must 
ha’ been born five-and-twenty year arter his body, at least !” 

^Ir. Winkle stayed not to hear the encomium upon his friend. 
He had dropped from the wall ; thrown himself at Arabella’s 
feet ; and by this time was pleading the sincerity of his passion 
with an eloquence worthy even of Mr. Pickwick himself. 

While these things were going on in the open air, an elderly 
gentleman of scientific attainments was seated in his library, two 
or three houses off, writing a philosophical treatise, and evei 
and anon moistening his clay and his labors with a glass of 
claret from a venerable-looking bottle which stood by his side. 
In the agonies of composition, the elderly gentleman looked 
s<^metimes at the carpet, sometimes at the ceiling, and sometimes 
at the wall ; and when neither carpet, ceiling or wail, afibrded 
the requisite degree of inspiration, he looked out of the window. 

In one of these ])auRes of invention, the scientific gentleman 
was gazing abstractedly on the thick darkness outside, when he 
was very much surprised by observing a most brilliant light 
glide through the air a short distance above the ground, and 
almost instantaneously vanish. After a short time the phe- 
nomenon was repeated, not once or twice, but several times: 
at last the scientific gentleman, laying down his pen, began to 
consider to what natural causes these appearances were to be 
assigned. 

They were not meteors ; they were too low. They were not 
glow-worms ; they were too high. They were not will-o’-the- 
wisps : they were not fire-flies : they were not fire-works. 
What could they be? Some extraordinary and wonderful 
phenomenon of nature, which no philosopher had ever seen 
before ; something which it had been reserved for him alone to 
discover, and which he should immortalise his name by chroni- 
cling for the benefit of posterity. Full of this idea, the scien- 
tific gentleman seized his pen again, and committed to paper 
sundry notes of these unparalleled appearances, with the date, 
day, hour, minute, and precise second at which they were 
visible, all of which were to form the data of a volumiuous 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


619 


treatise of great research and deep learning, which shonld 
astonish all the atmospherical wiseacres that ever drew breath 
in any part of the civi’ised globe. 

He threw himself back in his easy chair, wrapt in contem 
plations of his future greatness. The mysterious light appeared 
more brilliantly than before ; dancing to all aj)pearance U[) and 
down the lane, crossing from side to side, and moving in an 
orbit as eccentric as comets themselves. 

The scientific gentleman was a bachelor. He had no wife 
to call in and astonish, so he rang the bell for his servant. 

“I’ruffle,” said the scientific gentleman, “there is something 
very e.xtraordinary in the air to-night. Did you see that 
said the scientific gentleman, pointing out of the window, as 
the light again became visible. 

“Yes 1 did. Sir.” 

“ What do you think of it, Pruffle 

“Think of it. Sir 

“Yes. You have been bred up in the country. What 
should you say was the cause of those lights, now ?” 

The scientific gentleman smilingly anticipated Pruffle’s reply 
that he could assign no cause for them at all. Prufifie medi- 
tated. 

“ I should say it was thieves. Sir,” said Pruffle at length. 

“ You’re a fool, and may go down stairs” — said the scien- 
tific gentleman. 

“Thank you. Sir” — said Pruffle. And down he went. 

Put the scientifil! gentleman could not rest under the idea 
of the ingenious treatise he had projected, being lost to the 
world, which must inevitably be the case, if the speculation of 
the ingenious Mr. Pruffle were not stifled in its birth, lie put 
on his hat and walked quickly down the garden, determined to 
investigate the matter to the very bottom. 

Now, shortly before the scientific gentleman walked out into 
the garden, Mr. Pickwick had run down the lane as fast as he 
could, to convey a false alarm that somebody was coming that 
way, occawsionally drawing back the slide of the dark lantern 
to keep himself from the ditch. The alarm was no sooner 
given, than Mr. Winkle scrambled back over the wall, and Ara- 
bella ran into the house j — the garden gate was shut, and the 


620 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


three adventurers were making the best of their way down the 
lane, when tliey were startled by the scientific gentleman unlock- 
ing his garden gate. 

*• Hold hard,” whispered Sam, who was of course the first 
of the party. “ Show a light for just vun second. Sir.” 

Mr. IMckwick did as he was desired, and Sam seeing a man’s 
head peeping out very cautiously, within half a yard of his 
own, gave it a gentle tap with his clenched fist, which knocked 
it with a hollow sound against the gate. Having performed 
this feat with great suddenness and dexterity, Mr. Weller 
caught Mr. Pickwick up on his back, and followed Mr. Winkle 
down the lane at a pace which, considering the burden he 
carried, was perfectly astonishing. 

“ Have you got your vind back agin, Sir ?” inquired Sam, 
when they had reached the end. 

“Quite — quite now',” replied Mr. Pickw'ick. 

“Then come along. Sir,” said Sam, setting his master on his 
feet again. “ Come betw’een us. Sir. Not half a mile to run. 
Think you’re vinnin’ a cup. Sir. Now for it.” 

Thus encouraged, Mr. Pickwdek made the very best use of 
his legs, and it may be confidently stated that a pair of black 
gaiters never got over the ground in better style than did those 
of Mr. Pickwick on this memorable occasion. 

The coach was w'aiting, the horses were fresh, the roads w'ere 
good, and the driver w'as willing. The w'hole party arrived in 
safety at the Bnsh before Mr. Pickwick had recovered his 
breath. 

“ In vith you at once,^ Sir,” said Sam, as he helped his mas- 
ter out. “ Don’t stop a second in the street, arter that ’ere 
exercise. Beg your pardon. Sir,” continued Sam, touching his 
hat as Mr. Winkle descended, “ Hope there w'arn’t a priory 
’tachment. Sir.” 

Mr. Winkle grasped his humble friend by the hand and w'his- 

pered in his ear, “ It’s all right, Sam ; quite right’’ upon 

which Mr. Weller struck tliree distinct blow's upon his nose in 
token of intelligence; smiled, winked, and proceeded to put 
the steps up with a countenance expressive of lively satisfac- 
tion. As to the scientific gentleman, he demonstrated in a 
masterly treatise that these wonderful lights were the effect of 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


021 


electricity, and clearly proved the same by detailing how a 
flasli of tire danced before his eyes when he put his head out 
of the gate, and liow he received a shock which stunned him 
for a full (piarter of an hour afterwards j which deinonstrution 
delighted all the Scientific Associations beyond measure, and 
caused him to be considered a light of .science ever after- 
wards. 


CHArTEn XLI. 


INTRODI CES MR. PICKWICK TO A NEW, AND IT IS HOPED NOT 
UNINTERESTING SCENE, IN THE GREAT DRAMA OP LIFE. 

The remainder of the period which Mr. Pickwick had assigned 
as the duration of the stay at Bath, passed over without the 
occun’ence of anything material. Trinity Term commenced. 
On the expiration of its first week, Mr. Pickwick and his friends 
returned to London, and the former gentleman, attended of 
course by Sam, straightway repaired to his old quarters at the 
George and Vulture. 

On the third morning after their arrival, just as all the clocks 
in the city were striking nine individually, and somewhere about 
nine hundred collectively, Sam was taking the air in George 
Yard, when a queer sort of fresh painted vehicle drove up, out 
of which there jumped with great agility, throwing the reins to a 
stout man who sat beside him, a queer sort of gentleman, who 
seemed made for the vehicle, and the vehicle for him. 

The vehicle was not exactly u gig, neither was it a stanhope. 
It was not what is currently denominated a dog-cart, neither was 
it ataxed-cart, nor a chaise-cart, nor a guillotined cabriolet ; and 
yet it had something of the character of each and ever}" of these 
machines. It was painted a bright yellow, with the shafts and 
wheels picked out in black ; and the driver sat in the orthodox 
sporting style, on cushions piled about two feet above the rail. 
The horse was a bay, a well-looking animal enough ; but with 
something of a flash and dog-fighting air about him, nevertheless, 
which accorded admirably, both with the vehicle and his master, 

The master himself was a man of about forty, with black hair, 
and carefully combed whiskers ; dressed in a particularly gor- 
geous manner, with plenty of articles of jeweliy about him — all 
about three sizes larger than those which are usually woni by 
geiiilemeu — and a rough great-coat to crown the whole. Into 
one pocket of this great-coat he thrust his left hand the moment 
( 622 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 623 

he dismounted, while from the other he drew forth, with his 
riglit, a very hriglit and glaring silk handkerchief, with which he 
whisked a speck or two of d ist from his l>oots, and then crump- 
ling it in his hand, swaggered up the court. 

It had not escaped Sam’s attention that, when this person 
dismounted, a shabby-looking man in a brown great-coat shorn 
of divers buttons, who had been previously slinking about on the 
opposite side of the way, crossed over, and remained stationary 
close by. Having something more than a suspicion of the 
object of the gentleman’s visit, Sam preceded him to the George 
and Vulture, and, turning sharp round, planted himself in the 
centre of the doorway. 

“ Now, my fine fellow,” said the man in the rough coat, in 
an imperious tone, attempting, at the same time, to push his way 
past. 

“ Now, Sir, wot’s the matter ?” replied Sam, returning the 
push with compound interest. 

“ Come, none of this, my man ; this won’t do with me,” said 
the owner of the rough coat, raising his voice, and turning very 
white — “ Here, Smouch !” 

“ Well, wot’s amiss here ?” growled the man in the brown 
coat, who had been gradually sneaking up the court during this 
short dialogue. 

“ Only some insolence of this young man’s,” said the principal, 
giving Sam another push. 

“ Come, none o’ this gammon,” growled Smouch, giving him 
another, and a harder one. 

This last pusli had the effect which it was intended by the 
experienced Mr. Smouch to produce, for while Sam, anxious to 
return the compliment, was grinding that gentleman’s body 
against the doorpost, the principal crept ])ast, and made his way 
to the bar, whither Sam, after bandying a few epitheticul 
remark? with Mr. Smouch, followed at once. 

“ Good morning, my dear,” said the principal, addressing the 
young lady in the bar, with Botany Bay ease, and New South 
Wales gentility ; “ which is Mr. Pickwick’s room, my dear ?” 

“ Show him up,” said the bar-maid to a waiter, without deign- 
ing another look at the exquisite, in reply to his inquiry 

The waiter led the way up stairs as he was desired, and the 
40 


XHE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


man in the rough coat followed, with Sam behind him, who, in 
his progress up the staircase, indulged in sundry gestures iinli- 
cative of supreme contempt and defiance, to tiie unspeakable 
gratification of the servants and other lookers on. Mr. Smouch, 
who was troubled with a hoarse cough, remained below, and 
expectorated in the passage. 

Mr. Pickwick was fast asleep in bed, when his early visitor, 
followed by Sam, entered the room. The noise they made in so 
doing awoke him. 

“ Shaving water, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick from within the 
curtains. 

“ Shave you directly, Mr. Pickwick,” said the visitor, drawing 
one of them back from the bed^s head. “ I’ve got an execution 
against you, at the suit of Bardell. — Here’s the warrant. — (;om- 
mon Pleas. — Here’s my card. I suppose you’ll come ove** to 
my house.” And giving Mr. Pickwick a friendly tap on the 
shoulder, the sherifl’’s officer — for such he was — threw his card 
on the counterpane, and pulled a gold toothpick from his waist- 
coat pocket. 

“ Namby’s the name,” said the sheriff’s deputy, as Mr. 1 irk- 
wdck took his spectacles from under the pillow, and put then, on, 
to read the card. “Namby, Bell Alley, Coleman Street.” 

At this point, Sara Weller, w'ho had had his eyes l xed 
hitherto on Mr. Namby’s shining beaver, interfered — 

“Are you a Quaker?” said Sam. 

“ I’ll let you know who I am, before I’ve done wdth you,” 
replied the indignant officer. “ I’ll teach you manners, my fine 
fellow, one of these fine mornings.” 

“ Thankee,” said Sara. “ I’ll do the same for you. Take 
your hat off.” With this, Mr. Weller, in the most de.xtcrous 
manner, knocked Mr. Naraby’s hat to the other side ot the 
room, with such violence, that he had very neariy cau'^ed him 
to swallow the gold toothpick into the bargain. 

“ Observe this, Mr. Pick’vick,” said the disconcerted offnn r, 
gnrping for breath. “I’ve been assaulted in the execuiicn (»f 
my dooty l)y your servant in your chamber. I’m in bodily fear. 
I call you to wdtness this.” 

“ Don’t witness nothin’. Sir,” interposed Sara. “ Shut youi 


THE PICKW,1CK PAPERS. 


eyes up tight, Sir, I’ll pitch him out o’ winder, only he couldn’t 
fall far enough, ’cause o’ the leads outside.” 

“ Sara,” said Mr. Pickwick in an angry voice, as his attendant 
made various demonstrations of hostilities, if you say another 
word, or ofler the slightest interference with this person, 1 dis- 
charge you that instant.” 

“ But, Sir,” said Sara. 

“ Hold your tongue,” interposed Mr. Pickwick. “ Take that 
hat up again.” 

But this, Sara flatly and positively refused to do ; and, after 
he had been severely reprimanded by his master, the officer, 
being in a hurry, condescended to pick it up himself, venting a 
great variety of threats against Sam meanwhile, which that 
gentleman received with perfect composure, merely observing 
that if Mr. Namby would have the goodness to put his hat on 
again, he would knock it into the latter end of next week. Mr. 
Namby perhaps thinking that such a process might be produc- 
tive of inconvenience to himself, declined to ofler the tempta- 
tion, and soon after called up Smouch. Having informed him 
that the capture was made, and that he was to wait for the 
prisoner until he should have finished dressing, Namby then 
swaggered out, and drove away. Smouch requesting Mr. 
Pickwick, in a surly manner, “ to be as alive as he could, for 
it was a busy time,” drew up a chair to the door, and sat there 
till he had finished dressing. Sam was then dispatched for a 
hackney coach, and in it the triumvirate proceeded to Coleman 
street. It was fortunate the distance was short, for Mr. Smouch, 
besides possessing no very enchanting conversational powers, 
was rendered a decidedly unpleasant companion in a limited 
space, by the physical weakness to which we have elsewhere 
adverted. 

The coach having turned into a very narrow and dark street, 
Btopi)ed before a house with iron bars to all the windows; the 
door-posts of which, were graced by the name and title of 
“Namby, Officer to the Sheriffs of London;” the inner gate 
having been opened by a gentleman who might have passed for 
a neglected twin brother of Mr. Smouch, and who was endowed 
with a large key for the purpose, Mr. Pickwick was shown into 
the “coflfee-room.” 


626 


♦THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


This coflee-roora was a front parlor, the principal features of 
which, were fresh sand and stale tobacco smoke. Mr. Pick- 
wick bowed to the th;ee persons who were seated in it when he 
entered, and having dispatched Sara for Perker, withdrew into 
an obscure corner, and from thence looked with some curiosity 
upon his new companions. 

One of these was a mere boy of nineteen or twenty, who, though 
it was yet barely ten o’clock, was drinking gin and water, and 
smoking a cigar, amusements to which, judging from his in- 
flamed countenance, he had devoted himself pretty constantly 
for the last year or two of his life. Opposite him, engaged in 
stirring the fire with the toe of his right boot, was a coarse, 
vulgar young man, of about thirty, with a sallow face and harsh 
voice; evidently possessed of that knowledge of the world, and 
captivating freedom of manner, which is to be acquired in 
public-house parlors, and at low billiard tables. The third 
tenant of the apartment was a middle aged man in a very old 
suit of black, who looked pale and haggard, and paced up and 
down the room incessantly: stopping now and then to look 
with great anxiety out of the window as if he expected some- 
body, and then resuming his walk. 

“ You’d better have the loan of my razor this morning, Mr. 
Ayresleigh,” said the man who was stirring the fire, tipping the 
wink to his friend the boy. 

Thank you, no, I shan’t want it ; I expect I shall be out, 
in the course of an hour or so,” replied the other in a hurried 
manner. Tlien walking again up to the window, and once 
more returning disappointed, he sighed deeply, and left the 
room ; upon which the other two burst out into a loud laugh. 

“ Well, I never saw such a game as that,” said the gentleman 
who had offered the razor, whose name appeared to be Price. 

Never I” Mr. Price confirmed the assertion with an oath, 
and then laughed again, when of course the boy ( who thought 
his companion one of the most dashing fellows alive), laughed 
also. 

You’d hardly think, would you now,” said Price, turning 
towards Mr. Pickwick, “that that chap’s been here a week yes- 
terday, and never once shaved himself yet, because he feels so 


THK PICKWICK PAPERS. 


62T 


Certain he’s "oiiijr out in half an hour’s time, that he thinks he 
may as well i>ut it off till he prets home 

“Poor man!” said Mr. Pickwick. “Are his chances of 
getting out of his difficulties really so great?” 

“ Chances be d — d,” rejdied Price ; “ he hasn’t half the ghost 
of one. I wouldn’t give that for his chance of walking about 
the streets this time ten years.” With this Mr. Price snapped 
bis fingers contemptuously, and rang the bell. 

“ Give me a sheet of paper, Crookey,” said Mr. Price to the 
attendant, who in dress and general appearance looked something 
between a bankrupt grazier, and a drover in a state of insol- 
vency ; “ and a glass of brandy and water, Crookey, d’ye hear ? 
I’m going to write to my father, and I must have a stimulant, 
or I sha’n’t be able to pitch it strong enough into the old boy.” 
At this facetious speech, the young boy, it is almost needless to 
say, was fairly convulsed. 

“ That’s right,” said Mr. Price. “Never say die. All fun, 
ain’t it?” 

“Prime I” said the young gentleman. 

“ You’ve some spirit about you, you have,” said Price. 
“ You’ve seen something of life.” 

“ I rather think I have !” replied the boy. lie had looked 
at it through the dirty panes of glass in a bar door. 

Mr. Pickwick feeling not a little disgusted with this dialogue, 
as well as with the air and manner of the two beings by whom 
it had been carried on, was about to inquire whether he could 
*:iOt be accommodated with a private sitting-room, when two 
or three strangers of genteel appearance entered, at sight of 
whom the boy threw his cigar into the fire, and whispering to 
Mr. Price, that they had come to “make it all right” for him, 
joined them at a table in the further end of the room. 

It would appear, however, that matters were not going to 
be made all right quite so speedily as the young gentleman 
anticipated, for a very long conversation imsued, of which Mr. 
Pickwick could not avoid hearing certain angry fragments 
regarding dissolute conduct, and repeated forgiveness. At 
last there were very distinct allusions made by the oldest gen- 
tleman of the party to one Whitecross-street, at which the 
young gentleman, notwithstanding bis primeness and his spirit^. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


and Ills knowledge of life into the bargain, reclined his head 
upon the table and howled dismally. 

Yery much satisfied with this sudden bringing down of the 
youth’s valor, and ctfectual lowering of his tone, Mr. Pickwick 
rang the bell, and was shown at his own request into a private 
room furnished with a carpet, table, chairs, sideboard and sofa^ 
and ornamented with a looking glass, and various old prints. 
Here he had the advantage of hearing Mrs. Namby’s per- 
formance on a square piano overhead, while the breakfast was 
getting ready; and when it came, ISIr. Perker arrived also. 

“Aha, my dear Sir,” said the little man, “nailed at last, eh? 
Come, come, I’m not sorry for it either, because now you’ll see 
the absurdity of this conduct. I’ve noted down the amount of 
the taxed costs and damages for which the casa was issued, and 
we had better settle at once and lose no time. Namby is come 
home by this time, I dare say. What say you, my dear Sir, 
shall I draw a cheque, or will you ?” The little man rubbed 
his hands with alfected cheerfulness as he said this, but glancing 
at Mr. Pickwick’s countenance, could not forbear at the same 
time casting a desponding look towards Sam Weller. 

“Perker,” said Mr. Pickwick, “let me hear no more of this, 
I beg. I see no advantage in staying here, so I shall go to 
prison to-night.” 

“ You can’t go to Whitecross-street, my dear Sir,” said 
Perker. “Impossible! There are sixty beds in award, and 
the bolt’s on sixteen hours out of the four-and-twenty.” 

“ I should rather go to some other place of confinement if 
I can,” said Mr. Pickwick. “ If not I must make the best I 
can of that.” 

“ You can go to the Fleet, my dear Sir, if you’re determined 
to go somewhere,” said Perker. 

“That’ll do,” said Mr. Pickwick. “I’ll go there directly 
I’ve finished my breakfast.” 

“Stop, stop, my dear Sir; not the least occasion for being 
in such a; violent hurry to get into a place that most other men 
arc as eager to get out of,” said the good-natured little attor- 
ney. “ We must have a habeas corpus. There’ll be no judge 
at chambers till four o’clock this afternoon. Y'ou must wait 
till then*” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


629 


“Terr good,’* said Mr. Pickwick, with nnmoTcd patience. 
“Then vve will liave a cliop here, at two. See about it Sam, 
and tell thcfii to be punctual.” 

Mr. Ibckvvii'k remainirjg firm, despite all the remonstrances 
and arguments of I’erker, the chops appeared and disappeared 
in due course; and he was then put into another hackney coach, 
and carried oft* to Chancery Lane; after waiting half an hour 
or so for Mr. Nainby, wh6 had a select dinner party and could 
on no account be disturbed before. 

There were two judges in attendance at Sergeant’s Inn — one 
King’s Bench, and one Common Pleas, and a great deal of 
business appeared to be transacting before them, if the number 
of lawyer’s clerks who were hurrying in and out with bundles 
of papers, afforded any test. When they reached the low arch- 
way which forms the entrance to the Inn, Perker was detained 
a few moments ])arleying with the coachman about the fare and 
the change ; and Mr. Pickwick, stepping to one side to be out 
of the way of the stream of people that were pouring in and 
out, looked about him with some curiosity. 

The j)eople that attractt?d his attention mo§t, were three or 
four men of shabby-genteel appearance, who touched their hats 
to many of the attorneys who passed, and seemed to have some 
business there, the nature of which Mr. Pickwick could not 
divine. They were curious looking fellows. One 'was a slim 
and rather lame man in rusty black, and a white neckerchief; 
another was a stout, burly person, dressed in the same apparel, 
with a great reddish-black cloth around his neck; a third was 
a little weazen, drunken-looking body with a pimply face. 
They were loitering about, with their hands behind them, and 
now and then, with an anxious countenance, whispered some- 
thing in the ear of some of the gentlemen with })apers as they 
hurried by. Mr. Pickwick remembered to have very often 
observed them lounging under the archway when he had been 
walking past, and his curiosity was quite excited to know to 
what branch of the profession these dingy-looking loungers 
could possibly belong. 

lie was just about to propound the question to Namby, who 
kept close beside him sucking a large gold ring on his little 
finger, when Perker bustled up, and observing that there wai 


689 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


no time to lose, led the way into the Inn. As Mr. Pickwick 
followed, the lame man stepped up to him, and civilly toucliiiig 
his hat, held out a written carl, wliich Mr. Pickwick not wisn- 
ing to hurt the man’s feelings by refusing, courteously accepted 
and deposited in his waistcoat pocket. 

“ Now,” said Mr. Perker, turning round before he entered 
one of tlie offices, to see that his companions were close behind 
him. “In liere, my dear Sir. Hallo, what do you want?” 

This last question was addressed to the lame man, who, 
unobserved by Mr. Pickwick, made one of the party. In re])ly 
to it the lame man touched his hat again with all imaginable 
politeness, and motioned towards Mr. Pickwick. 

“No, no,” said Perker, with a smile. “We don’t want you 
my dear friend, we don’t want you.” 

“ 1 beg your pardon, Sir,” said the lame man. “ The gen- 
tleman took my card. I hope you will employ me, Sir. The 
gentleman nodded to me. I’ll be judged by the gentleman 
himself. You nodded to me, Sir?” 

“ Pooh, pooh, nonsense. You didn’t nod to any body, Pick- 
wick ? A mistake, a mistake,” said Perker. 

“ The gentleman handed me his card,” replied Mr. Pickwick, 
producing it from his waistcoat pocket. “ I accepted it, as 
the gentleman seemed to wish it — in fact I had some curiosity 
to look at it when I should be at leisure. I ” 

The little attorney burst into a loud laugh, and returned the 
card to the lame man, informing him it was all a mistake, 
whispered to Mr. Pickwick as the man turned away in dudgeon, 
that he was only a bail. 

“ A what I” e.vclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 

“ A bail,” replied Perker. 

“A bail I” 

“ Y'es, my dear Sir, half a dozen of ’em here. Bail yon to 
any amount, and only charge half-a-crown. Curious trade 
isn’t it?” said Perker, regaling himself with a pinch of snuff. 

“ What! am I to understand that these men earn a livelihood 
bv waiting about here to perjure themselves before the judges 
of the land, at the rate i f half-a-crovvn a crime 1” exclaimed 
Mr. Pickwick, quite aghast at the disclosure. 

. ** Why, I don’t exactly know about tho penjury, my dear Sir.*' 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


C81 


replied the little gentleman. “ Harsh words, my dear Sir, very 
harsh words indeed. It’s a legal fiction, my dear Sir, notinng 
more.” Saying which the attorney shrugged his shoulders, 
smiled, took a second pinch of snuff, and led the way i/ito the 
office of the judge’s clerk. 

This was a room of specially dirty appearance, with a very 
low ceiling and old pannelled walls ; arid so badly lighted, that 
although it was broad day outside, great tallow candles were 
burning on the desks. At one end, was a door leading to the 
judge’s private apartment, round which were congregated a 
crowd of attorneys and managing clerks, who were called in, in 
the order in which their respective appointments stood upon the 
file. Every time this door was opened to let a party out, the 
next party made a violent rush to get in ; and as in addition to 
the numerous dialogues which passed between the gentlemen 
who were waiting to see the judge, a variety of rather personal 
squabbles ensued between the greater part of those wdio had 
seen him, there was as much noise as could well be raised in an 
apartment of such confined dimensions. 

Nor were the conversations of these gentlemen the only 
sounds that broke upon the ear. Standing on a box behind a 
wooden bar at another end of the room was a clerk in spec- 
tacles, who w^as “ taking the affidavits.” large batches of wliich 
w'ere from time to time carried into the private room by another 
clerk for the judge’s signature. There \vere a large number of 
attorney’s clerks to be sworn, and it being a moral impossibility 
to swear them all at once, the struggles of these gentlemen to 
reach the clerk in spectacles, were like those of a crowd to get 
in at the pit door of a theatre when Ilis Most Gracious Majesty 
honors it with his presence. Another functionary from time to 
time exercised his lungs in calling over the names of those who 
had been sworn, for the purpose of restoring to them their 
affidavits after they had been signed by the judge, w'hich gave 
rise to a few more scuffles ; and all these things going on at 
the same time, occasioned as much bustle as the most actives 
and excitable person could desire to behold. There were yet 
another class of persons — thos(B who w'ere waiting to attend 
Bununonses their employers had taken out, which it was optional 
to the attorney on the opposite side to attend or not, and whoso 


632 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


bnsincss it was from time to time to cry out the opposite attor- 
ney’s name, to make certain tliat he was not in altendaiicfl 
without their knowledge. 

For example. Leaning against the wall, close beside the 
seat ^Ir. Pickwick had taken, was an oflice lad of fourteen, 
with a tenor voice, and near him a common-law clerk with a 
bass one. 

A clerk harried in with a bundle of papers and stared about 
him. 

“ Sniggle and Blink,” cried the tenor. 

J’orkin and Snob,” growled the bass. 

“ Stumpy and Deacon,” said the new comer. 

Nobody answered; and the next man who came in was hailed 
by the whole three, and he in his turn shouted for another firm, 
and then somebody else roared in a loud voice for another, 
and so forth. 

All this time, the man in the spectacles was hard at work 
swearing the clerks ; the oath being invariably administered 
without any effort at punctuation, and usually in the following 
terms : — 

“ Take the book in your right hand this is your name and 
hand-writing you swear that the contents of this your affidavit 
are true so help you God a shilling you must get change I 
haven’t got it.” 

“Well, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. “I suppose they arc 
getting the habeas corpus ready. 

“ Yes,” said Sam, “ and I vish they’d bring out the have-his- 
carcase. It’s wery unpleasant keepin’ us vaitin’ here. I’d ha’ 
got half a dozen have-his-carcases ready, pack’d up and all, by 
this time.” 

What sort of cumbrous and unmanageable machine, Sara 
Weller imagined a writ of habeas corpus to be does not appear, 
for Perker at that moment walked up and took Mr. Pickwick 
away. 

The usual forms having been gone through, the body of 
Samuel Pickwick was soon afterwards confided to the custody 
of the tipstaff, to be by him taken to the Warden of the Fleet 
Prison, and . thei^ detained until the amount of the damages 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


m 


and costs in tho action of Bardell against Pickwick was fully 
paid and satisfied. 

“And that,” said Mr. Pickwick, laughing, “will be along 
time. Sam, call another hackney coach. Perker, my dear 
friend, good bye.” 

“1 shall go with you, and sec you safe there,” said Perker. 

“ Indeed,” replied Mr. Pickwick, “ I would rather go with- 
out any other attendant than Sam. As soon as I get settled, 
I will write and let you know, and I shall expect you imme- 
diately. Until then, good-bye.” 

As Mr. Pickwick said this, he got into the coach which had 
by this time arrived, followed by the tipstaff. Sam having 
stationed himself on the box, it rolled away. 

“A most extraordinary man, that,” said Perker, as he 
stopped to pull on his gloves. 

“ What a bankrupt he’d make. Sir,” observed Mr. Lowten, 
who was standing near. “ How he would bother the commis- 
sioners I He’d set ’em at defiance if they’d talk of committing 
him. Sir.” 

The attorney did not appear very much delighted with his 
clerk’s professional estimate of Mr. Pickwick’s character, for 
he walked away without deigning any rejdy. 

The hackney coach jolted along Fleet Street, as hackney 
coaches usually do. The horses “ went better,” the driver said, 
when they had got anything before them, (they must have gone 
at a most extraordinary pace when there was nothing,) and so 
the vehicle kept behind a cart ; when the cart stopped, it 
stopped, and when the cart went on again, it did the same. 
Mr. Pickwick sat opposite the tipstaff, and the tipstaff sat with 
Iiis hat between his knees, whistling a tune, and looking out of 
the coach window. 

Time performs wonders, and, by the powerful old gentle- 
man’s aid, even a hackney coach gets over half a mile of ground. 
Tliey stopped at length, and Mr. Pickwick alighted at the gate 
of the Fleet. 

The tipstaff, just looking over his shoulder to see that his 
charge was following close at his heels, preceded Mr. IMckwick 
into the prison ; turning to the left, after they had entered, 
they passed through an open door into a lobby, from which a 


6S4 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


heavy gate opposite to that by which they had entered, and 
which was gnarded by a stout turnkey with the key in liis hand, 
led at once into ilie interior of the prison. 

Here they stopped, while the tipstalF delivered his papers ; 
and here Mr. Pickwick was apprised that he would remain 
until he had undergone the ceremony, known to the initiated, 
as “ sitting for your portrait.’^ 

‘‘Sitting for my portrait I” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Having your likeness taken, Sir,” replied the stout turnkey. 

“ AVe’re capital hands at likenesses here. Take ’em in no 
time, and always exact. Walk in, Sir, and make yourself at 
home.” 

Mr. Pickwick complied with the invitation, and sat himself 
down, when Mr. Weller, who stationed himself at the back of 
the chair, whispered that the sitting was merely another terra 
for undergoing an inspection by the different turnkeys, in order 
that they might know prisoners from visitors. 

“Well, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, “then I wish the artists 
would come. This is rather a public ])lace.” 

“They von’t be long, Sir, I des-say,” replied Sam. “There’s 
a Dutch clock. Sir.” 

“ So I see,” observed Mr. Pickwick. 

“And a bird-cage. Sir,” said Sam. “Teels vithin veels, a 
prison in a ])rison. Aint’t it. Sir.” 

As Mr. Weller made this philosophical remark, Mr. Pick- 
wick was aware that his sitting had commenced. The stout 
turnkey having been relieved from the lock, sat down, and 
looked at him carelessly from time to time, while a long thin 
man who had relieved him thrust his hands beneath his coat 
tails, and })lanting himself opposite, took a good long view of 
him. A third, rather surly looking gentleman, who had appa 
reii^lybeen disturbed at his tea, for he was disposing of the 
last remnant of a crust and butter when he came in, stationed 
himself close to Mr. Pickwick; and, resting his hands on his 
hips, inspected him narrowly, while two others mixed with the 
group, and studied his features with most intent and thought- 
ful faces. Mr. Pickwick winced a good deal under the oi)era- 
tion, and appeared to sit very uneasily in his chair : but he 
made uO remark to anybody while it was being performed — not 


IHE PICKWICK . PAPE US. 


m 


even to Sam, who reclined upon the back of the chair, reflect- 
ing, partly on tlie situation of lus master, and partly on the 
great satisfaction it would have afforded him to make a fierce 
as. ault u[)on all the turnkeys there assembled, one after the 
other, if it were lawful and peaeealde so to do. 

At length the likene.ss was com[)leted, and Mr. Pickwick was 
mlormed that he might now proceed into the prison. 

“ Where am I to sleep to-night?” incjuired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Why 1 don’t rightly know about to-night,” rei)lied the 
stout turnkey. “You’ll be chummed on somebody to-morrow, 
and then you’ll be all snug and comfortable. The first night’s 
generally rather Unsettled, but you’ll be set all squares 
to-morrow.” 

After some discussion, it was discovered that one of the 
turnkeys had a bed to let, which Mr. Pickwick could have for 
that night, and he gladly agreed to hire it. 

“ If you come with me, Pll show it you at once,” said the 
man. “ It ain’t a large ’un ; but it’s an out and outer to sleep 
in. This way. Sir.” 

They passed through the inner gate, and descended a short 
flight of .steps. The key w’as turned after them, and Mr. Pick- 
wick found himself, for the first time in his life, within the walls 
of a Debtor’s Prison. 


CnATTER XLII. 


WHAT BEFEL MR. PICKWICK WHEN HE GOT INTO THE 

fleet; what debtors ue saw there; anl how he 

PASSED THE NIGHT. 

Mr. Tom Roker, the gentleman who had accompanied Mr. 
Pickwick into the prison, turned sharp ground to the right 
W'lien he got to the bottom of the little flight of steps, and led 
the way through an iron gate which stood open, and up another 
short flight of steps, into a long narrow gallery, dirty and low, 
paved with stone, and very dimly lighted by a window at each 
remote end. 

“ This,’’ said the gentleman, thrusting his hands into his 
pockets, and looking carelessly over his shoulder to Mr. Pick- 
wick, “This here is the hall flight.” 

“ Oh,” replied Mr. Pickwick, looking down a dark and 
filthy staircase, which appeared to lead to a range of damp and 
gloomy stone vaults beneath the ground, “ and those, I sup- 
pose, are the little cellars where the prisoners kee|) their small 
quantities of coals. Ah ! unpleasant places to have to go 
down to ; but very convenient, I dare say.” 

“Yes, I shouldn’t wonder if they was convenient,” replied 
the gentleman, “ seeing that a few people live there pretty 
snug. That’s the Fair, that is.” 

“My friend, ’’said Mr. Pickwick, “you don’t really mean to 
say that human beings live down in those wretched duuf s ?” 

“Don’t I,” replied ]\Ir. Roker, with indignant astuiiish- 
ment ; “ why shouldn’t I ?” 

“ Live! — live down there !” exclaimed ^fr. Pickwick. 

“ Live down there ! yes, and die down there, too, wery 
often !” re])lied Mr. Roker; “and what of that? AVho’s got 
to say anything agui it? Live down there! — yes, and a wery 
good place it is to live in, ain’t it ?” 

As Roker turned sv/mewhat fiercely upon Mr. Pickwick in 
( 636 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


6S7 


Baying this, and moreover muttered, in an excited fashion, cer- 
tain uiijileasant invocations concerning his own eyes, limbs, and 
circulating fluids, the latter gentleman deemed it advisable to 
pursue the discourse no further. Mr. lloker tlnen ])roceeded 
to mount another staircase, as dirty as that which led to the 
place which had just been the subject of discussion, in which 
accent he was closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and Sam. 

“ There,” said Mr. Roker, pausing for breath when they 
reached another gallery of the same dimensions as the one 
below, “this is the coffee-room flight< the one above’s the 
third, and the one above that’s the top; and the room where 
you’re a going to sleep to-night is the warden’s room, and it’s 
this way — come on.” Uaving said all this in a breath, Mr. 
Roker mounted another flight of stairs, with Mr. Pickwick 
and Sam Weller following at his heels. 

These staircases received light from sundry windows placed 
at some little distance above the floor, and looking into a 
graveled area bounded by a high brick wall, with an iron 
ehevaux-de-friae at the top. This area, it appeared from Mr. 
Roker’s statement, was the racket-ground; and it further 
appeared, on the testimony of the same gentleman, that there 
was a smaller area in that portion of the prison which was 
nearest Farringdon-street, denominated and called “ the 
Painted Ground,” from the fact of its walls having once dis- 
played the semblances of various men-of-war in full sail, and 
other artistical effects, achieved in bygone times by some im- 
prisoned draughtsman in his leisure hours. 

Having communicated this piece of information, apparently 
more for the purpose of discharging his bosom of an important 
fact, than with any specific view of enlightening Mr. Pickwick, 
the guide, having at length reached another gallery, led the 
way into a small passage at the extreme end; opened a door 
and disclosed an apartment of an appearance by no means 
inviting, containing eight or nine iron bedsteads. 

“There,” said Mr. lloker, holding the door open, and 
looking triumphanily round at Mr. Pickwick, “There’s a 
room !” 

Mr. Pickwick’s face, however, betokened suen a very trifling 
portion of satisfaction at the appearance of his lodging, that 


63B 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


Mr. Kokfr looked for a rcciprocitj of fcclinp: into the conn- 
tenance of Samuel Weller, who, until now, had observed a 
dignified silence. 

^‘There’s a room, young man,” observed Mr Roker. 

“ I see it,” replied Sam, with a placid nod of the head. 

You wouldn’t think to find such a room as this, in the 
Farringdon Hotel, would you?” said Mr. Roker, with a com 
placent smile. 

To this Mr. Weller replied with an easy and unstudied 
closing of one eye ; which might be considered to mean, either 
chat he would have thought it, or that he would not have 
thought it, or that he had never thought anything at all about 
it, just as the observer’s imagination suggested. Having 
executed this feat, and re-opened his eye, Mr. Weller pro- 
ceeded to inquire which was the individual bedstead that Mr. 
Roker had so flatteringly described as an out-and-outer to 
Bleep in. 

“That’s it,” replied Mr. Roker, pointing to a very rusty one 
in a corner. “It would make any one go to sleep, that bed- 
stead would, whether they wanted to or not.” 

“ I should think,” said Sam, eyeing the piece of furniture in 
question with a look of excessive disgust, “ I should think 
poppies was nothin’ to it.” 

“ Nothing at all,” said Mr. Roker. 

“ And I s’pose,” said Sam, with a sidelong glance at his 
master, as if to see whether there were any symptoms of his 
determination being shaken by what passed, “ 1 s’pose the other 
gen’l’men as sleeps here, are gen’l’men.” 

“ Nothing but it,” said Mr. Roker. “ One of ’em takes his 
twelve pints of ale a-day, and never leaves off smoking, even 
at his meals.” 

“ He must be a first-rater,” said Sara. 

“ A, 1,” replied Mr. Roker. 

Nothing daunted, even by this intelligence, Mr. Pickwick 
smilingly announced his determination to test the powers of the 
narcotic bedstead for that night ; and Mr. Roker, after informing 
him that he could retire to rest at whatever hour he thought 
proper without any further notice or formality, walked off’, leaving 
him standing with Sam in the gallery. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


689 


It was getting dark ; that is to say, a few gas jets were 
kindled in this place, which was never light, by way of compli- 
ment to the evening, which had set in outside. As it was rather 
warm, some of the tenants of the numerous little rooms which 
opened into the gallery on either hand, had set their doors ajar. 
Mr. Pickwick peeped into them as he passed along, with great 
curiosity and interest. Here, four or five great hulking fellows, 
just visible through a cloud of tobacco smoke, were engaged in 
noisy and riotous conversation over half-emptied pots of beer, or 
playing at all-fours with a very greasy pack of cards. In the 
adjoining room, some solitary tenant might be seen, pouring, by 
the light of a feeble tallow candle, over a bundle of soiled and 
tattered papers, yellow with dust and dropping to pieces from 
age, writing, for the hundredth time, some lengthened statement 
of his grievances, for the perusal of some great man whose eyes 
it would never reach, or whose heart it would never touch. In 
a third, a man, with his wife and a whole crowd of children, 
might be seen making up a scanty bed on the ground, or upon a 
few chairs, for the younger ones to pass the night in. And in a 
fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth, and a seventh, the noise and the 
beer, and the tobacco smoke and the cards, all came over again 
in greater force than before. 

In the galleries themselves, and more especially on the stair- 
cases, there lingered a great number of people, who came there, 
some because their rooms were empty and lonesome ; others 
because their rooms were full and hot ; and the greater part 
because they were restless, and uncomfortable, and not possessed 
of the secret of exactly knowing what to do with themselves. 
There were many classes of people here, from the laboring man 
in his fustian jacket, to the broken down spendthrift in his shawl 
dressing-gown, most appropriately out at elbows ; but there was 
the same air about them all — a kind of listless, jail-bird, careless 
swagger ; a vagabondish who’s-afraid sort of bearing, which is 
wholly indescribable in words ; but which any man can under- 
stand in one moment if he wishes, by just setting foot in the 
nearest debtors’ prison, and looking at the very first group of 
people he sees there, with the same interest as Mr. Pickwick 
did. 

It strikes me, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, leaning over the 
41 


640 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


iron rail at the stair-head, “ It strikes me, Sam, that imprison- 
ment for debt is scarcely any punishment at all.” 

“ Think not. Sir ?” inquired Mr. Weller. 

“ You see how these fellows drink, and smoke and roar,” 
replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘‘ It’s quite impossible that they can 
mind it much. ’ 

“ Ah, that’s just the wery thing. Sir,” rejoined Sam, “ they 
don’t mind it ; it’s a reg’lar holiday to them — all porter and 
skettles. It’s the t’other vuns as gets done over vith this sort o' 
thing : them down-hearted fellers as can’t svig avay at the beer, 
nor play skettles neither ; them as vould pay if they could, and 
gets low by being boxed up. I’ll tell you what it is. Sir ; them 
as is alvays a idlin’ in public houses it don’t damage at all, and 
them as is alvays a vorkin’ vhen they can, it damages too miich. 
‘It’s unekal,’ as my father used to say ven his grog worn’t made 
half-and-half — ‘ It’s unekal, and that’s the fault on it’ ” 

“ I think you’re right, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, after a few 
moments’ reflection, “ quite right” 

“ P’raps, now and then, there’s some honest people as likes 
it,” observed Mr. Weller, in a ruminative tone, “ but I neve' 
heerd o’ one as I can call to mind, ’cept the little dirty-faced maia 
in the brown coat, and that was force of habit.” 

“ And who was he ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Yy, that’s just the wery point as nobody never know’d,” 
replied Sam. 

“ But what did he do ?” 

“ Vy he did wot many men as has been much better know’d 
has done in their time. Sir,” replied Sam, “ he run a match agin 
the constable, and vun it.” 

“ In other words, I suppose,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ he got 
into debt ?” 

“ Just that, Sir,” replied Sam, “ and in course o’ time he come 
hert in consekens. It warn’t much — execution for nine pound 
nothin’, multiplied by five for costs; but hows’ever here he 
stopped for seventeen year. If he got any wrinkles in his face, 
they was stoj>ped up vith the dirt, for both the dirty face and the 
brown coat wos just the same at the end o’ that time Bsi they wos 
at the beginnin’. He wos a wery peace^’^? Itioffendin’ little 
creetur, and wos alvays a bustlin^ aLou: somebody, or playin’ 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


641 


rackets and never vinnin^ ; till at last the turnkeys they got quite 
fond on him, and he wos in the lodge ev’ry night, a chattering 
vith ’em, and tell in’ stories, and all that ’ere. Yun night he wos 
in them as usual, alone vith a wery old friend of his,, as wos on 
the lock, ven he says all of a sudden, ‘ I ain’t seen the market 
outside. Bill,’ he says, (Fleet Market was there at that time) — 
‘ I ain’t seen the market outside. Bill,’ he says, ‘ for seventeen 
year.’ ‘ I know you ain’t,’ says the turnkey, smoking his pipe. 
‘ I should like to see it for a minit. Bill,’ he says. ‘ Wery pro- 
bable,’ says the turnkey, smoking his pipe wery fierce, and 
making believe he warn’t up to wot the little man wanted. 
‘ Bill,’ says the little man, more abrupt than afore, ‘ I’ve got the 
fancy in my head. Let me see the public street once more afore 
I die ; and if I ain’t struck with apoplexy. I’ll be back in five 
minits by the clock.’ * And wot ’ud become o’ me if you wos 
struck with apoplexy V said the turnkey. ‘ Yy,’ says the little 
creetur, ‘ whoever found me, ’ud bring me home, for I’ve got my 
card in my pocket. Bill,’ he says, ‘ No. 20, Coffee-room Flight :’ 
and that wos true, sure enough, for ven he wanted to make the 
acquaintance of any new comer, he used to pull out a little limp 
card vith them words on it and nothin’ else ; in consideration of 
vich, he wos alvays called Number Tventy. The turnkey takes 
a fixed look at him, and at last he says in a solemn manner, 
‘ Tventy,’ he says, ^ I’ll trust you ; you won’t get your old friend 
into trouble.’ ‘No, ray boy; I hope I’ve somethin’ better 
behind here,’ says the little man, and as he said it, he hit his 
little vesket wery hard, and then a tear started out o’ each eye, 
which wos wery extraordinary ; for it was supposed as water 
never touched his face. He shook the turnkey by the hand ; 
out he vent ” 

“ And never came back again,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Wrong for vunce. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller, “for back he 
come two minits afore the time, a bilin’ vith rage, sayin’ how he’d 
been nearly run over by a hackney coach ; that he warn’t used to 
it, and he wos blowed if he wouldn’t write to the Lord Mayor. 
They got him pacified at last ; and for five year arter that, he 
never even so much as peeped out o’ the lodge-gate.” 

“ At the expiration of that time he died, I suppose,” sJd Mr. 
Pickwick. 


642 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“No, he didn’t, Sir,” replied Sam. “He got a curiosity to 
go and taste the beer at the new public-house over the way, on 
the premises ; and it wos sich a wery nice parlor, that he took 
it into his head to go there every night, which he did for a long 
time, alvays cornin’ back reg’lar about a quarter of an hour 
afore the gate shut, which wos all wery snug and comfortable. 
At last he began to get so precious jolly, that he used to forget 
how the time vent, or to care nothin’ at all about it, and he 
vent on gettin’ later and later, till vun night his old friend wos 
just a shuttin’ the gate — had turned the key in fact — ven he 
come up. ‘ Hold hard. Bill,’ he says. ‘ Wot, ain’t you home 
yet, Tventy V says the turnkey, ‘ I thought you was in long 
ago.’ ‘No I wasn’t,’ says the little man, vith a smile. ‘Yell 
then. I’ll tell you wot it is, my friend,’ says the turnkey openin’ 
the gate wery slow and sulky, ‘ it’s my ’pinion as you’ve got into 
bad company o’ late, which I’m werry sorry to see. Now I 
don’t wish to say anything harsh,’ he says, ‘ but if you cau’t 
confine yourself to steady circles, and find your vay back at 
reg’lar hours, as sure as you’re a standin’ there, I’ll shut you 
out altogether 1’ The little man was seized vith a wioleut fit o’ 
tremblin’, and never vent outside the prison walls artervards 1” 
As Sam concluded, Mr. Pickwick slowly retraced his steps 
down stairs. After a few thoughtful turns in the Painted 
Ground, which, as it was now dark, was nearly deserted, he 
intimated to Mr. Weller that he thought it high time for him 
to withdraw for the night ; requesting him to seek a bed in 
some adjacent public house, and return early in the morning, to 
make arrangements for the removal of his master’s wardrobe 
from the George and Vulture. This request Mr. Samuel 
Weller prepared to obey, with as good a grace as he could 
assume, but with a very considerable show of reluctance never- 
theless. He even went so far as to essay sundry ineffectual 
hints regarding the expediency of stretching himself on the 
gravel for that night; but finding Mr. Pickwick obstinately 
deaf to any such suggestions, finally withdrew. 

There is no disguising the fact that Mr. Pickwick felt very 
low-spirited and uncomfortable — not for lack of society, for the 
prison was very full, and a bottle of wine would at once have 
purchased the utmost good-fellovyship of a few choice spirits, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


643 


without any more formal ceremony of introduction ; but he was 
alone in the coarse vulgar crowd, and felt the depression of spirit 
and sinking of heart, naturally consequent upon the reflection 
that he was cooped and caged up without a prospect of libera- 
tion. As to the idea of releasing himself by ministering to the 
sharpness of Dodson & Fogg, it never for an instant entered 
his thoughts. 

In this frame of mind he turned again into the coffee-room 
gallery, and walked slowly to and fro. The place was intolera- 
bly dirty, and the smell of tobacco smoke perfectly suffocating. 
There was a perpetual slamming and banging of doors as the 
people went in and out, and the noise of their voices and foot- 
steps echoed and re-echoed through the passages constantly. 
A young woman with a child in her arms, who seemed scarcely 
able to crawl, from emaciation and misery, was walking up 
and down the passage in conversation with her husband, who 
had no other place to see her in. As they passed Mr. Pick- 
wick, he could hear the female sob bitterly ; and once she burst 
into such a passion of grief, that she was compelled to lean 
against the wall for support, while the man took the child in 
his arms, and tried to soothe her. 

Mr. Pickwick’s heart was really too full to bear it, and he 
went up stairs to bed. 

Now, although the warden’s room was a very uncomfortable 
one, being, in every point of decoration and convenience, several 
hundred degrees inferior to the commonest infirmary of a 
country gaol, it had at present the merit of being wholly 
deserted, save by Mr. Pickwick himself. So, he sat down at 
the foot of his little iron bedstead, and began to wonder bow 
much a year the warden made out of the dirty room Having 
satisfied himself, by mathematical calculation, that the apart- 
ment was about equal in annual value to the freehold of a small 
street in the suburbs of London, he took to wondering what 
possible temptation could have induced a dingy-looking fly that 
was crawling over his pantaloons, to come into a close prison, 
when he had the choice of so many airy situations — a course 
of meditation which led him to the irresistible conclusion that 
the insect was insane. After settling this point, he began to be 
conscious that he was getting sleepy j whereupon he took his 


644 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


nightcap out of his pocket in which he had had the precaution 
to stow it in the moring, and leisurely undressing himself, got 
into bed, and fell asleep. 

“ Bravo I Heel over toe — cut and shuffle — pay away at it, 
Zephyr ! I’m smothered if the Opera House isn’t your proper 
hemisphere. Keep it up. Hooray 1” These expressions, de- 
livered in a most boisterous tone, and accompanied with loud 
peals of laughter, roused Mr. Pickwick from one of those so'und 
slumbers, which, lasting in reality some half hour, seem to the 
sleeper to have been protracted for about three weeks or a 
juonth. 

The voice had no sooner ceased than the room was shaken 
with such violence that the windows rattled in their frames, and 
the bedsteads trembled again. Mr. Pickwick started up, and 
remained for some minutes fixed in mute astonishment at the 
scene before him. 

On the floor of the room, a man in a broad-skirted green 
coat, with corderoy knee smalls* and grey cotton stockings, was 
performing the most popular steps of a hornpipe, with a slang 
and a burlesque caricature of grace and lightness, which com- 
bined with the very appropriate character of his costume, was 
inexpressibly absurd. Another man, evidently very drunk, 
who had probably been tumbled into bed by his companions, 
was sitting up between the sheets, warbling as much as he 
could recollect of a comic song, with the most intense senti- 
mental feeling and expression ; while a third, seated on one of 
the bedsteads, was applauding both performers with the air of 
a profound connoisseur, and encouraging them by such ebulli- 
tions of feeling as had already roused Mr. Pickwick from his 
sleep. 

This last man was an admirable specimen of a class of gentry 
which never can be seen in full perfection but in such places ; 
—they may be met with in an imperfect state occasionally about 
stable-yards and public houses ; but they never attain their full 
bloom except in these hot-beds, which would almost seem to be 
considerately provided by the Legislature for the sole purpose 
of rearing them. 

He was a tall fellow, with an olive complexion, long dark 
hair, and very thick bushy whiskers meeting under his chin. 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


646 


He wore no neckerchief, as he had been playing rackets all day, 
and his open shirt collar displayed their full luxuriance. On his 
head he wore one of the common eighteenpenny French skull- 
caps, with a gawdy tassel dangling therefrom, very happily in 
keeping with a common fustian coat. His legs, which being 
long, were afflicted with weakness, graced a pair of Oxford- 
mixture trousers, made to show the full symmetry of the limbs. 
Being somewhat negligently braced, however, and, moreover, 
but imperfectly buttoned, they fell in a series of not the most 
graceful folds over a pair of shoes sufficiently down at heel to 
display a pair of very soiled white stockings. There was a 
rakish vagabond smartness, and a kind of boastful rascality, 
about the whole man, that was worth a mine of gold. 

This figure was the first to perceive’ that Mr. Pickwick was 
looking on ; upon which he winked to the Zephyr, and en- 
treated him, with mock gravity not to wake the gentleman. 

“Why, bless the gentleman^s honest heart and soul I’^ said 
the Zephyr, turning round and affecting the extremity of sur- 
prise ; “ the gentleman is awake. Hem ; Shakspeare. How 
do you do. Sir ? How is Mary and Sarah, Sir ? and the dear 
old lady at home. Sir — eh. Sir ? Will you have the kindness 
to put my compliments into the first little parcel you^re sending 
that way. Sir, and say that I would have sent ’em before, only 
I was afraid they might be broken in the wagon. Sir 

“ Don’t overwhelm the gentleman with ordinary civilities when 
you see he’s anxious to have something to drink,” said the 
gentleman with the whiskers, with a jocose air. “Why don’t 
you ask the gentleman what he’ll take ?” 

“ Dear me — I quite forgot,” replied the other. “ What will 
you take. Sir ? Will you take port wine. Sir, or sherry wine. 
Sir ? I can recommend the ale. Sir ; or perhaps you’d like to 
taste the porter. Sir ? Allow me to have the felicity of hanging 
up your nightcap. Sir.” 

With this the speaker snatched that article of dress from 
Mr. Pickwick’s head, and fixed it in a twinkling on that of the 
drunken man, who firmly impressed with the belief that he was 
delighting a numerous assembly, continued to hammer away at 
the comic song in the most melancholy strains imaginable. 

Taking a man’s nightcap from his brow by violent meana^ 


646 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


and adjusting it on the head of an unknown gentleman of dirty 
exterior, however ingenious a witticism in itself, is unquestion- 
ably one of those which come under the denomination of practical 
jok(?6. Viewing the matter precisely in this light, Mr. Pick- 
wick, without the slightest intimation of his purpose, sprang 
vigorously out of bed ; struck the Zephyr so smart a blow in the 
chest, as to deprive him of a considerable portion of the com- 
modity which sometimes bears his name ; and then, recapturing 
his nightcap, boldly placed himself in an attitude of defence. 

“ Now,” said Mr. Pickwick, gasping no less from excitement 
than from the expenditure of so much energy, “ come on — ^botb 
of you — both of you.” And with this liberal invitation the 
worthy gentleman communicated a revolving motion to his 
clenched fists, by way of appalling his antagonists with a display 
of science. 

It might have been Mr. Pickwick’s very unexpected gallantry, 
or it might have been the complicated manner in which he had 
got himself out of bed, and fallen all in a mass upon the horn- 
pipe man, that touched his adversaries. Touched they were ; 
for, instead of then and there making an attempt to commit man- 
slaughter, as Mr. Pickwick implicitly believed they would have 
done, they paused,, stared at each other a short time, and finally 
laughed outright. 

“ Well ; you’re a trump, and I like you all the better for it,” 
said th? Zephyr. ‘ Now jump into bed again, or you’ll catch 
the rheumatics. No malice, I hope ?” said the man, extending 
a hand about the size of the yellow clump of fingers which some- 
times swings over a glover’s door. 

“ Certainly not,” said Mr. Pickwick, with great alacrity ; for, 
now that the excitement was over, he began to feel rather cool 
about the legs. 

“ Allow me the honor. Sir ?” said the gentleman with the 
whiskers, presenting his dexter hand, and aspirating the h. 

“ With much pleasure. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick ; and having 
executed a very long and solemn shake, he got into bed again. 

“ My name is Smangle, Sir,” said the man with the whiskers. 

“ Oh,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Mine is Mivins,” said the man in the stockings. 

“ I am delighted to hoar it, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


647 


** Hem,” coughed Mr. Smangle. 

“ Did you speak, Sir said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ No, I did not. Sir,” said Mr. Smangle. 

I thought you did. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

All this was very genteel and pleasant ; and, to make matters 
still more comfortable, Mr. Smangle assured Mr. Pickwick a 
great many times that he entertained a very high respect for the 
feelings of a gentleman; which sentiment, indeed, did him 
infinite credit, as he could be in no way supposed to understand 
them. 

“Are you going through the Court, Sir?” inquired Mr. 
Smangle. 

“ Through the what ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Through the Court — Portugal Street — ^the Court for the 
Relief of ^you know.” 

“ Oh, no,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “ No, I am not.” 

“ Going out, perhaps ?” suggested Mivins. 

“ I fear not,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “ I refuse to pay some 
damages, and am here in consequence.” 

“ Ah,” said Mr. Smangle, “ paper has been my ruin.” 

“ A stationer, I presume. Sir ?” said Mr. Pickwick, inno- 
cently. 

“ Stationer I No, no ; confound and curse me ! — ^not so low 
as that. No trade. When I say paper, I mean bills.” 

“ Oh, you use the word in that sense. I see,” said Mr. 
Pickwick. h 

“ Damme I a gentleman must expect reverses,” said Smangle. 

“ What of that ? Here am I in the Fleet Prison. Well ; good. 
WTiat then ? I’m none the worse for that, am I ?” 

Not a bit,” replied Mr. Mivins. And he was quite right ; 
for, so far from Mr. Smangle being any the worse for it, he was 
something the better, inasmuch as to qualify himself for the 
place, he had attained gratuitous possession of certain articles 
of jewelry, which, long before that, had found their way to the 
pawnbroker’s. 

I “ Well ; but come,” said Mr. Smangle ; “ this is dry work. 

I Let’s rinse our mouths with a drop of burnt sherry ; !he last 
j comer shall stand it, Mivins shall fetch it, and I’ll help to drink 


648 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


it. That’s a fair and gentlemanlike division of labor, any how 
— curse me I” 

Unwilling to hazard another quarrel, Mr. Pickwick gladly 
assented to the proposition, and consigned the money to Mi. 
Mivins, who, as it was nearly eleven o’clock, lost no time in 
repairing to the coffee-room on his errand. 

“ I say,” whispered Smangle, the moment his friend had left 
the room ; “what did you give him ?” 

‘'Half a sovereign,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ He’s a devilish pleasant gentlemanly dog,” said Mr. Sman- 
gle ; — “ infernal pleasant. I don’t know any body more so ; but 

” Here Mr. Smangle stopped short, and shook his head 

dubiously. 

“ You don’t think there is any probability of his appropriating 
the money to his own use ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Oh, no — mind, I don’t say that ; I expressly say that he’s a 
devilish gentlemanly fellow,” said Mr. Smangle. “But I think, 
perhaps, if somebody went down, just to see that he didn’t drop 
his beak into the jug by accident, or make some confounded 
mistake in loosing the money as he came up stairs, it would be as 
well. Here, you Sir, just run down stairs and look after that 
gentleman, will you ?” 

This request was addressed to a little, timid-looking, nervous 
man, whose appearance bespoke great poverty, and who had 
been crouching on his bedstead all this while, apparently quite 
’ftupified by the novelty of his situation. 

“You know where the coffee-room is,” said Smangle; “just 
run down, and tell that gentleman you’ve come to help him up 
with the jug. Or — stop — I’ll tell you what — I’ll tell you how 
we’ll do him,” said Smangle, with a cunning look. 

“ How ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Send down word that he’s to spend the change in cigars. 
Capital thought ! Run and tell him that ; d’ye hear ? They 
shan’t be wasted,” continued Smangle, turning to Mr. Pickwick, 
“i’ZZ smoke ’em.” 

This manoeuvring was so exceedingly ingenious, and, withal, 
performed with such immovable composure and coolness, that 
Mr. Pickwick w'ould have had no wish to disturb it, even if ho 
had had the power. In a short time Mr. Mivins returned, bearing 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


649 


the sherry, which Mr. Smangle dispensed in two little cracked 
mugs ; considerately remarking, with reference to himself, that a 
gentleman must not be particular under such circumstances, and, 
for his part, he was not too proud to drink out of the jug ; in 
which, to show his sincerity, he forthwith pledged the company 
in a draught which half emptied it. 

An excellent understanding having been by these means 
promoted, Mr. Smangle proceeded to entertain his hearers with 
a relation of divers romantic adventures in which he had been 
from time to time engaged, involving various interesting anec- 
dotes of a thorough-bred horse, and a magnificent Jewess, both 
of surpassing beauty, and much coveted by the nobility and 
gentry of these kingdoms. 

Long before these elegant extracts from the biography of a 
gentlemen were concluded, Mr. Mivins had betaken himself to 
bed, and set in snoring for the night ; leaving the timid stranger 
and Mr. Pickwick to the full benefit of Mr. Smangle’s expe- 
riences. 

Nor were the two last named gentlemen as much edified as 
they might have been by the moving passages which were 
narrated. Mr. Pickwick had been in a state of slumber for 
some time, when he had a faint perception of the drunken man 
bursting out afresh with the comic song, and receiving from Mr. 
Smangle a gentle intimation, through the medium of the water 
jug, that his audience were not musically disposed. He then 
once again dropped off to sleep, with a confused consciousness 
that Mr. Smangle was still engaged in relating a long story, the 
chief point of which appeared to be, that, on some occasion 
particularly stated and set forth, he had “ done’^ a bill and a 
gentleman at the same time. 


t 


CHAPTER XLIIL 


ILLUSTRATIVE, LIKE THE PRECEDING ONE, OP THE OLD PROVERB, 

THAT ADVERSITY BRINGS A MAN ACQUAINTED WITH STRANGE 

BED-FELLOWS. LIKEWISE CONTAINING MR. PICKWICK’S EX- 
TRAORDINARY AND STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT TO ME 

SAMUEL WELLER. 

When Mr. Pickwick opened his eyes next morning, the first 
object upon which they rested was Samuel Weller, seated upon 
a small black portmanteau, intently regarding, apparently in a 
condition of profound abstraction, the stately figure of the 
dashing Mr. Smangle, while Mr. Smangle himself, who was 
already partially dressed, was seated on his bedstead, occupied 
in the desperately hopeless attempt of staring Mr. Weller out 
of countenance. We say desperately hopeless, because Sam, 
with a comprehensive gaze, which took in Mr. Smangle’s cap, 
feet, head, face, legs, and whiskers, all at the same time, con- 
tinued to look steadily on with every demonstration of livelj 
satisfaction, but with no more regard to Mr. Sraangle’s per- 
sonal sentiments on the subject, than he would have displayed 
had he been inspecting a wooden statue, or a straw-emboweled 
Guy Faux. 

“Well ; will you know me again ?” said Mr. Smangle, with 
a frown. 

“I’d svear to you any veres. Sir,” replied Sam, cheerfully. 

“Don’t be impertinent to a gentleman, Sir,” said Mr. 
Smangle. 

“Not on no account,” replied Sam. “If you’ll tell me ven 
he vakes. I’ll be upon the wery best extra-super behaviour I” 
This observation, having a remote tendency to imply that Mr. 
Smangle was no gentleman, rather kindled his ire. 

“ Mivins I” said Mr. Smangle, with a passionate air. 

“ What’s the office ?” replied the gentleman from his couch. 

“ Whj the devil’s this fellow ?” 

( 650 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


661 


**^Gad,” said Mr. Mivins, looking lazily out from under the 
bed-clothes, “I ought to ask t/ow that. Hasn't he any business 
here. " 

“ No,” replied Mr. Smangle. 

** Then knock him down stairs, and tell him not to presume 
tc get up till I come and kick him,” rejoined Mr. Mivins ; and 
with this prompt advice, that excellent gentleman again betook 
himself to slumber. 

The conversation exhibiting these unequivocal symptoms of 
rather verging on the personal, Mr. Pickwick deemed it a fit 
point at which to interpose. 

“ Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Sir,” rejoined that gentleman. 

“ Has any thing new occurred since last night ?” 

“Nothin' partickler, Sir,” replied Sam, glancing at Mr. 
Smangle's whiskers ; “ the late prewailance of a close and con- 
fined atmosphere has been rayther favorable to the growth of 
veeds, of an alarmin’ and sangvinary natur ; but vith that ’ere 
exception things is quiet enough.” 

“ I shall get up,” said Mr. Pickwick ; “ give me some clean 
. things.” 

Whatever hostile intentions Mr. Smangle might have enter- 
tained, his thoughts were speedily diverted by the unpacking 
of the portmanteau ; the contents of which appeared to impress 
him at once with a most favorable opinion, not only of Mr. 
Pickwick, but of Sam also, who took an early opportunity of 
declaring, in a tone of voice loud enough for that eccentric per- 
sonage to overhear, was a regular thorough-bred original, and 
consequently the very man after his own heart. As to Mr. 

I Pickwick, the affection he conceived for him knew no limits. 

“ Now is there any thing I can do for you, my dear Sir ?” 
I said Mr. Smangle. 

“ Nothing that I am aware of, I am obliged to you,” replied 
Mr. Pickwick. 

“ No linen that you want sent to the washerwoman’s ? I 
know a delightful washerwoman outside, that comes for ray 
things twice a week, and, by Jove I — how devilish lucky I — this 
is the very day she calls. Shall I put any of those little things 
up \>ith mine ? Don’t say any thing about the trouble. Con- 


652 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


found and curse it ! if one gentleman under a cloud is not to 
put himself a little out of the way to assist another gentleman 
in the same condition, what’s human nature ?” 

Thus spake Mr. Smangle, edging himself meanwhile as near 
as possible to the portmanteau, and beaming forth looks of the 
most fervent and disinterested friendship. 

“ There nothing you want to give out for the man to brush, 
my dear creature, is there resumed Smang!e. 

“Nothin’ whatever, my fine feller,” rejoined Sam, taking the 
reply into his own mouth. “ P’raps, if vun of us wos to brush, 
without troubling the man, it ’ud be more agreeable for all par- 
ties, as the school-master said ven the young gentlemen objected 
to being flogged by the butler.” 

“ And there’s nothing that I can send in my little box to the 
washerwoman’s, is there ?” said Smangle, turning from Sam to 
Mr. Pickwick, with an air of some discomfiture. 

“ Nothin’ whatever. Sir,” retorted Sam ; “ I’m afeerd the 
little box must be chock full o’ your own as it is.” 

This speech was accompanied with such a very expressive 
look at that particular portion of Mr. Smangle’s attire, by the 
appearance of which the skill of laundresses in getting up gen- 
tlemen’s linen is generally tested, that he was fain to turn upon 
his heel, and, for the present at any rate, to give up all design 
on Mr. Pickwick’s purse and wardrobe. He accordingly 
retired in dudgeon to Ae racket-ground, where he made a light 
and wholesome breakfast upon a couple of the cigars which 
had been purchased on the previous night. 

Mr. Mivins, who was no smoker, and whose account for 
small articles of chandlery had also -reached down to the bottom 
of the slate, and been “ carried over” to the other side, remained 
in bed, and, in his own words, “took it out in sleep.” i 

After breakfasting in a small closet attached to the coffee-' 
room, which bore the imposing title of the Snuggery, thel 
temporary inmate of which, in consideration of a small addi- 
tional charge^ has the unspeakable advantage of overhearing 
all the conversation in the coffee-room aforesaid; and after 
despatching Mr. Weller on some necessary errands, Mr. Pick- 
wick repaired to the Lodge, to consult Mr. Roker concerning 
his future accommodation. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


6.53 


** Accommodation, eh?” said that gentleman, consulting a 
large book; “plenty of that Mr. Pickwick. Your chummage 
ticket will be on twenty-seven, in the third.” 

“ Oh,” said Mr. Pickwick. “ My what, did you say?” 

“Your chummage ticket,” replied Mr. Roker; “you’re up 
to that ?” 

“Not quite,” replied Mr. Pickwick, with a smile. 

“Why,” said Mr. Roker, “it’s as plain as Salisbury. You’ll 
have a chummage ticket upon twenty-seven in the third, and 
them as is in the room will be your chums.” 

“ Are there many of them ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, du* 
biously. 

“ Three,” replied Mr. Roker. 

Mr. Pickwick coughed. 

“ One of ’em’s a parson,” said Mr. Roker, filling up a little 
piece of paper as he spoke, “another’s a butcher.” 

“Eh ?” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 

“A butcher,” repeated Mr. Roker, giving the nib of his pen 
a tap on the desk to cure it of a disinclination to mark. “ What 
a thorough-paced goer he used to be sure-ly I You remember 
Tom Martin, Neddy?” said Roker, appealing to another man 
in the lodge, who was paring the mud off his shoes with a five- 
and-twenty bladed pocket-knife. 

“I should think so,” replied the party addressed, with a 
strong emphasis on the personal pronoun. 

“Bless my dear eyes,” said Mr. Roker, shaking his head 
slowly from side to side, and gazing abstractedly out of the 
grated window before him, as if he were fondly recalling some 
peaceful scene of his early youth ; “ it seems but yesterday that 
he whopped the coal-heaver down Fox-nndcr-the- Hill by the 
wharf there. I think I can see him now, a coming up the 
Strand between the two street-keepers, a little sobered by the 
bruising, with a patch o’ winegar and brown paper over his 
light eyelid, and that ’ere lovely bull-dog, as pinned the little 
boy arterwards, a following at his heels. What a rum thing 
time is, ain’t it, Neddy ?” 

The gentleman to whom these observations were addressed, 
who appeared of a taciturn and thoughtful cast, merely echoed 
the inquiry; and Mr. Roker, shaking off the poetical and 


654 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


gloomy train of thought into which he had been betrayed^ des- 
cended to the common business of life, and resumed his pen. 

“ Do you know what the third gentleman is ?” inquired Mr. 
Pickwick, not very much gratified by this description of his 
future associates. 

What is that Simpson, Neddy said Mr. Roker, turning 
to his companion. 

“What Simpson said Neddy. 

“ Why him in twenty-seven in the third, that this gentleman^s 
going to be chummed on.” 

“ Oh, him I” replied Neddy : “ he’s nothing exactly. He was 
a horse chaunter : he’s a leg now.” 

“Ah, so I thought,” rejoined Mr. Roker, closing the book, 
and placing the small piece of paper in Mr. Pickwick’s hands 
—“That’s the ticket. Sir.” 

Yery much perplexed by this summary disposition of his 
person, Mr Pickwick walked back into the prison, revolving 
in his inind what he had better do. Convinced, however, that 
before he took any other steps it would be advisable to see, 
and hold personal converse with the three gentlemen with whom 
it was proposed to quarter him, he made the best of his way 
to the third flight. 

After groping about in the gallery for some time, attempting 
in the dim light to decipher the numbers on the different doors, 
he at length appealed to a potboy, who happened to be pur- 
suing his morning occupation of gleaning for pewter. 

“ Which is twenty-seven, my good fellow ?” said Mr, Pick- 
wick. 

“ Five doors further on,” replied the potboy. “ There’s the 
likeness of a man being hung, and smoking a pipe the while, 
chalked outside the door.” 

Guided by this direction, Mr. Pickwick proceeded slowly 
along the gallery until he encountered the “ portrait of a gen- 
tleman,” above described, upon whose countenance he tapped, 
with the knuckle of his fore-finger — gently at first, and then 
more audibly. After repeating this process several times with- 
out effect, he ventured to open the door and peeped in. 

There was only one man in the room, and he was leaning 
out of the window as far as he could without over-balancing 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


655 


himself, endeavoring with great perseverance to spit upon the 
crown of the hat of a personal friend on the parade below. 
As neither speaking, coughing, sneezing, knocking, nor any 
other ordinary mode of attracting attention, made this person 
aware of the presence ef a visiter, Mr. Pickwick, after some 
delay stepped up to the window, and pulled him gently by the 
coat-tail. The individual brought in his head and shoulders 
with great swiftness, and surveying Mr. Pickwick from head to 
foot, demanded in a surly tone what the — something beginning 
with a capital H — he wanted. 

I believe,” said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his ticket, “ I 
believe this is twenty-seven in the third. ” 

“Well,” replied the gentleman. 

“ I have come here in consequence of receiving this bit of 
paper,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Hand it over,” said the gentleman, 

Mr. Pickwick complied. 

“ I think Roker might have chummed you somewhere else,” 
said Mr. Simpson, (for it was the leg,) after a very discon* 
tented sort of a pause. 

Mr. Pickwick thought so also ; but, under all the circum- 
stances, he considered it a matter of sound policy to be silent. 

Mr. Simpson mused for a few moments after this, and then 
thrusting his head out of the window, gave a shrill whistle, and 
pronounced some word aloud several times. What the word 
was, Mr. Pickwick could not distinguish ; but he rather inferred 
that it must be some nickname which distinguished Mr. Martin, 
from the fact of a great number of gentleman on the ground 
below, immediately proceeding to cry, “ Butcher,” in imitation 
of the tone in which that useful class of society are wont 
diumally to make their presence known at area railings. 

Subsequent occurrences confirmed the accuracy of Mr. Pick- 
wick’s impression ; for, in a few seconds, a gentleman, pre- 
maturely broad for his years, clothed in a professional blue 
jean frock, and top-boots with circular toes, entered the ro jtn 
nearly out of breath, closely followed by another gentleman in 
very shabby black, and a seal-skin cap. The latter gentleman, 
who fastened his coat all the way up to hij chiu by means of a 
42 


C56 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


pin and a button alternately, had a very coarse red face, and 
looked like a drunken chaplain, which, indeed, he was 

These two gentlemen having by turns perused Mr. Pickwick’s 
billet, the one expressed his opinion that it was “ a rig,” and 
the other his conviction that it was “a go.” Having recorded 
their feelings in these very intelligible terms, they looked at 
Mr. Pickwick and each other in awful silence. 

• “ It’s an aggravating thing, just as we’ve got the beds so 
snug,” said the chaplain, looking at three dirty matrasses, each 
rolled up iia a blanket, which occupied one corner of the room 
during the* day, and formed a kind of slab, on which were 
placed an old cracked basin, ewer, and soap-dish, of common 
yellow earthenware, with a blue flower : “ Very aggravating.” 

Mr. Martin expressed the same opinion, in rather stronger 
terms; Mr. Simpson, after having let a variety of expletive 
adjectives loose upon society without any substantive to accom- 
pany them, tucked up his sleeves, and began to wash the greens 
for dinner. 

• While this was going on, Mr. Pickwick had been eyeing the 
room,, which was filthily dirty, and smelt intolerably close. 
There was no vestige of either carpet, curtain, or blind. There 
was not even a closet in it. Unquestionably there were but 
few things to put away, if there had been one ; but, however 
few in number, or small in individual amount, still remnants- 
of loaves, and pieces of cheese, and damp towels, and scraps of 
meat, and articles of wearing apparel, and mutilated crockery, 
and bellows without nozzles, and toasting-forks without prongs, 

present something of an * uncomfortable appearance wheu 
they are scattered about the door of a small apartment, which 
is the common sitting and sleeping room of three idle men. 

“ I suppose this can be managed somehow,” said the butcher, 
after a pretty long silence. “ What will you take to go out ?” 

“I beg your pardon,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “ What did 
you say ? I hardly understand you. ” 

“ What will you take to be paid out ?” said the butcher 
' The regular chummage is two-and-sixpence. Will you take 
three bob ?” * . . 

“ — And a bender,” suggested the clerical gentleman. 

“ Well I don’t mind that; it’s only twopencer a-piece more,’ 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


667 


Baid Mr. Martin. “What do you say now? We’ll pay you 
out for three-and-sixpence a week. Come.” 

And stand a gallon of beer down,” chimed in Mr. Simpson. 
** There. ” 

“ And drink it on the spot,” said the chaplain. “ Now.” 

“ I really am so wholly ignorant of the rules of this place,** 
retwned Mr. Pickwick, “that I do not comprehend you. Can 
I live any where else ? I thought I could not.” 

At this inquiry Mr. Martin looked with a countenance of 
excessive surprise at his two friends, and then each gentleman 
pointed with his right thumb over his left shoulder. This 
action, imperfectly described in words by the very feeble term 
of “over the left,” when performed by any number of ladies or 
gentlemen who are accustomed to act in unison, has a very 
graceful and airy effect; its expression is one of light and 
playful sarcasm. 

“ Gan you ?” repeated Mr. Martin, with a smile of pity. 

“ Well, if I knew as little of life as that, I’d eat my hat and 
Bwallow the buckle,” said the clerical gentleman. 

“ So would I,” added the sporting one, solemnly. 

After this introductory preface, the three chums informed 
Mr. Pickwick in a breath, that money was, in the Fleet, just 
what money was out of it ; that it would instantly procure him 
almost any thing he desired ; and that, supposing he had got 
it, and had no objection to spend it, if he only signified his wish 
to have a room to himself, he might take possession of one, 
furnished and fitted to boot, in half an hour’s time. 

With this, the parties separated, very much to their mutual 
satisfaction. Mr. Pickwick once more retracing his steps to 
the lodge, and the three companions adjourning to the coffee- 
room, there to expend the five shillings which the clerical gen- 
tleman had, with admirable prudence and foresight, borrowed 
of him for the purpose. 

“ I knowed it,” said Mr. Roker, with a chuckle, when Mr. 
Pickwick stated the object with which he had returned. 
“ Didn’t I say so, Neddy ?” 

The philosophical owner of the universal penknife growled 
an affirmative. 

“ I knowed you’d want a room for yourself, bless you I” said 


658 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Mr. Roker. “Let me see. You’ll want some furniture. You’ll 
hire that of hie, I suppose ? That’s the reg’lar thing.” 

“ With great pleasure,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“ There’s a capital room up in the coffee-room flight, that 
belongs to a Chancery prisoner,” said Mr. Roker. “ It’ll stand 
you in a pound a-week. I suppose you don’t mind that ?” 

“Not at all,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Just step there with me,” said Roker, taking up his hat 
with great alacrity ; “ the matter’s settled in five minutes. 
Lord 1 why didn’t you say at first that you was willing to come 
down handsome ?” 

The matter was soon arranged, as the turnkey had foretold. 
The Chancery prisoner had been there long enough to have 
lost friends, fortune, home, and happiness, and to have acquired 
the right of having a room to himself. As he labored, how- 
ever, under the slight inconvenience of often wanting a morsel 
of bread, he eagerly listened to Mr. Pickwick’s proposal to rent 
the apartment ; and readily covenanted and agreed to yield him 
up the sole and undisturbed possession thereof, in consideration 
of the weekly payment of twenty shillings ; from which fund he 
furthermore contracted to pay out any person or persons that 
might be chummed upon it. 

As they struck the bargain, Mr. Pickwick surveyed him with 
a painful interest. He was a tall, gaunt, cadaverous man, in 
an old great coat and slippers, with sunken cheeks, and a rest- 
less, eager eye. His lips were bloodless, and his bones sharp 
and thin. God help him 1 the iron teeth of confinement and 
privation had been slowly filing them down for twenty years. 

“And where will you live meanwhile. Sir?” said Mr. Pick- 
wick, as he laid the amount of the first week’s rent in advance 
on the tottering table. 

The man gathered up the money with a trembling hand, and 
replied that he didn’t know yet ; he must go and see where ho 
could move his bed to. 

“ I am afraid. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, laying his hand gently 
and compassionately on his arm — “ I am afraid you will have 
to live in some noisy crowded place. Now, pray, consider this 
room your own when you want quiet, or when any of your 
Mends come to see you.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 669 

Friends I” interposed the man, in a voice which rattled in 
his throat. “ If I lay dead at the bottom of the deepest mine 
in the world, tight screwed down and soldered in my coflBn, 
rotting in the dark and filthy ditch that drags its slime along 
beneath the foundations of this prison, I could not be more 

forgotten or unheeded than I am here. I am a dead man 

dead to society, without the pity they bestow on those whose 
souls have passed to judgment. Friends to see me / My God I 
I have sunk from the prime of life into old age in this place, 
and there is not one to raise his hand above my bed, when I 
lie dead upon it, and say, ‘ It^s a blessing he is gone 1^ ” 

The excitement, which had cast an unwonted light over the 
man’s face while he spoke, subsided as he concluded ; and, 
pressing his withered hands together in a hasty and disordered 
manner, he shuffled from the room. 

“Rides rather rusty,” said Mr. Roker, with a smile. “AlU 
they’re like the elephants ; they feel it now and then, and it 
makes ’em wild !” 

Having made this deeply* sympathising remark, Mr. Roker 
entered upon his arrangements with such expedition, that 
in a short time the room was furnished with a carpet, six 
chairs, a table, a sofa bedstead, a tea-kettle, and various small 
et ceteras, on hire, at the very reasonable rate of seven-and- 
twenty shillings and sixpence per week. 

. “Now, is there anything more we can do for you ?” inquired 
Mr. Roker, looking round with great satisfaction, and gaily 
chinking the first week’s hire in his closed fist. 

“ Why, yes,” said Mr. Pickwick, who had been musing deeply 
for some time. “ Are there any people here who run on errands, 
and so forth ?” 

“ Outside, do you mean ?” inquired Mr. Roker. 

“ Yes ; I mean who are able to go outside. Not prisoners.” 

“ Yes, there is,” said Roker. “ There’s an unfortunate devil, 
who has got a friend on the poor side, that’s glad to do any- 
thing of that sort. ' He’s been running odd jobs, and that, for 
the last two months. Shall I send him ?” 

“ If you please,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick. “ Stay ; — no. 
The poor side, you- say. I should like to see it ; — I’ll go to 
him myself ” 


660 


THE PICKWICK PAPEBS. 


The poor side of a debtor^s prison is, as its name imports, 
that in which the most miserable and abject class of debtors 
are confined. A prisoner having declared on the poor side, 
pays neither rent nor chummage. His fees, upon entering and 
leaving the gaol, are reduced in amount, and he becomes entitled 
to a share of some small quantities of food ; to provide which, a few 
charitable persons have, fw)m time to time, left trifling legacies 
in their wills. Most of our readers will remember, that, until 
within a very few years past, there was a kind of iron cage in 
the wall of the Fleet Prison, within which was pcrsted some man 
of hungry looks who, from time to time, rattled a money-box, 
and exclaimed, in a mournful voice, “ Pray, remember the poor 
debtors; pray, remember the poor debtors.” The receipts of 
this box, when there were any, were divided among the poor 
prisoners, and the men on the poor side relieved each other in 
this degrading office. 

Although this custom has been abolished, and the cage is now 
boarded up, the miserable and destitute condition of these un- 
happy persons remain the same. We no longer suffer them to 
appeal at the prison gates to the charity and compassion of the 
passers by ; but we still leave unblotted in the leaves of our 
statute book, for the reverence and admiration of succeeding 
ages, the just and wholesome law which declares that the sturdy 
felon shall be fed and clothed, and that the penniless debtor shall 
be left to die of starvation and nakedness. This is no fiction. 
Not a week passes over our heads but, in every one of our 
prisons for debt, some of these men must inevitably expire in 
the slow agonies of want, if they were not relieved by their 
fellow-prisoners. 

Turning these things in his mind, as he mounted the narrow 
stair-case at the foot of which Roker had left him, Mr. Pick- 
wick gradually worked himself to the boiling-over point ; and 
so excited was he with his reflections on this subject, t}\at he 
had burst into the room to which he had been directed, before 
he had any distinct recollection either of the place in which he 
was, or of the object of his visit. 

The general aspect of the room recalled him to himself at 
once; but hi had no sooner cast his eyes on the figure of a 
man who was brooding over the dusty fire, than, letting his hat 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


661 


fall oil the floor, he stood perfectly fixed and immovable with 
astonishment. 

YcvS, in tattered garments, and without a coat ; his common 
calico shirt yellow and in rags ; his hair hanging over his 
face ; his features changed with suffering, and pinched with 
famine, — there sat Mr. Alfred Jingle ; his head resting upon 
his hand, his eyes fixed upon the fire, and his whole appearance 
denoting misery and dejection 1 

Near him, leaning listlessly against the wall, stood a strong 
built countryman, flicking with a worn-out hunting-whip the 
top-boot that adorned his right foot ; his left being thrust into 
an old slipper. Horses, dogs and drink had brought him there 
pell-mell. There was a rusty spur on the solitary boot, which 
he occasionally jerked into the empty air, at the same time 
giving the boot a smart blow, and muttering some of the 
sounds by which a sportsman encourages his horse. He was 
riding, in imagination, some desperate steeple-chase at that 
moment. Poor wretch I he never rode a match on the swiftest 
animal in his costly stud with half the speed at which he had 
torn along the course that ended in the Fleet. 

On the opposite side of the room an old man was seated on 
a small wooden box, with his eyes riveted on the floor, and his 
face settled into an expression of the deepest and most hopeless 
despair. A young girl — his little grand-daughter — was hang- 
ing about him, endeavoring, with a thousand childish devices, 
to engage his attention ; but the old man neither saw nor heard 
her. The voice that had been music to him, and the eyes that 
had been light, fell coldly on his senses. His limbs were shaking 
with disease, and the palsy had fastened on his mind. 

There were two or three other men in the room, congregated 
in a little knot, and noisily talking among themselves. There 
was a lean and haggard woman, too — a prisoner’s wife — who 
was watering, with great solicitude, the wretched stuiftp of a 
dried-up, withered plant, which, it was plain to see, could never 
send forth a green leaf again ; — too true an emblem, perhaps, 
of the office she had come there to discharge. 

Such were the objecits which presented themselves to Mr. 
Pickwick’s view, as he looked round him in amazement. The 
noise of some one stumbling hastily into the room roused him. 


662 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Turning his eyes towards the door, they encountered th6 new 
comer ; and in him, through all his rags, and dirt, and misery, 
he recognised the familiar features of Mr. Job Trotter. 

“ Mr. Pickwick 1” exclaimed Job, aloud. 

“ Eh said Jingle, starting from his seat 

“ Mr. 1 So it is — queer place — strange thing — serves 

me right — very. ” And with this Mr. Jingle thrust his hands 
into the place where his trousers pocket used to be, and, drop- 
ping his chin upon his breast, sunk back into his chair. 

Mr. Pickwick was affected ; the two men looked so very 
miserable. The sharp involuntary glance Jingle had cast at a 
small piece of raw loin of mutton, which Job had brought in 
with him, said more of their reduced state than two hours' 
explanation could have done He looked mildly at Jingle, and 
said : — 

“ I should like to speak to you in private. Will you step 
out for an instant ?” 

“ Certainly,” said Jingle, rising hastily. “ Can't step far — 
no danger of over-walking yourself here — spike park — grounds 
pretty — romantic, but not extensive — open for public inspection 
— family always in town — housekeeper desperately careful — 
very.” 

“ You have forgotten your coat,” said Mr. Pickwick, as they 
walked out to the staircase, and closed the door after them. 

“ Eh ?” said Jingle. “ Spnut— dear relation — uncle Tom — 
could’nt help it — must eat, you know. Wants of nature — and 
all that.” 

“ What do you mean ?” 

“ Gone, my dear Sir — last coat — can't help it. Lived on a 
pair of boots — whole fortnight. Silk umbrella — ^ivory handle — 
week — fact — honor — ask Job — knows it.” 

“ Lived for three weeks upon a pair of boots and a silk 
umbrella with an ivory handle 1” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who 
had only heard of such things in shipwrecks, or read of them in 
Constable’s Miscellany. 

“ True,” said Jingle, nodding his head. “ Pawnbroker’s 
shop — duplicates here — small sums — mere nothing — all rascals.” 

Oh,” said Mr. Pickwick, much relieved by this explanation; 
‘*1 understand you You have pawned your wardrobe.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ Everything — Job’s too — all shirts gone — never mind- 
saves washing. Nothing soon — lie in bed — starve — die— 
Inquest — little bone-house — poor prisoner — common necessaries 
— ^hush it up — gentlemen of the jury — warden’s tradesmen — 
keep it snug — natural death — coroner’s order — workhouse 
funeral — serve him right — all over — drop the curtain.” 

Jingle delivered this singular summary of his prospects in life 
with his accustomed volubility, and with various twitches of the 
countenance to counterfeit smiles. Mr. Pickwick easily per- 
ceived that his recklessness was assumed, and looking him full, 
but not unkindly, in the face, saw that his eyes were moist with 
tears. 

“ Good fellow,” said Jingle, pressing his hand, and turning 
his head away. “ Ungrateful dog — ^boyish to cry — can’t help 
it — bad fever — weak — ill — hungry. Deserved it all ; but suf- 
fered much — very.” Wholly unable to keep up appearances any 
longer, and perhaps rendered worse by the effort he had made, 
the dejected stroller sat down on the stairs, and, covering his 
face with his hands, sobbed like a child. 

“ Come, come,” said Mr. Pickwick, with considerable emotion, 

we’ll see what can be done when I know all about the matter. 
Here, Job where is that fellow ?” 

‘‘Here, Sir,” replied Job, presenting himself on the staircase. 
We have described him, by-the-bye, as having deeply-sunken 
eyes in the best of times ; in his present state of want and 
distress, he looked as if those features had gone out of town 
altogether. 

“ Here, Sir,” said Job. 

Come here, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, trying to look stem, 
with four large tears running down his waistcoat. “ Take that, 
Sir.” 

Take what ? In the ordinary acceptation of such language, 
it should have been a blow. As the world runs, it ought to 
have been a sound hearty cuff ; for Mr. Pickwick had been 
duped, deceived, and wronged by the destitute outcast who was 
now wholly in his power. Must we tell the truth ? It was 
something from Mr. Pickwick’s waistcoat pocket, which chinked 
as it was given into Job’s hand ; ai d the giving which, some- 


664 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


how or ot:ter, imparted a sparkle to the eye, and a swelling to 
the heart of our excellent old friend, as he hurried away. 

Sam had returned when Mr. Pickwick reached his own room, 
and was inspecting the arrangements that had been made for 
his comfort, with a kind of grim satisfaction which was very 
pleasant to look upon. Having a decided objection to his 
master’s being there at all, Mr. Weller appeared to consider it 
a high moral duty not to appear too much pleased with any- 
thing that was done, said, suggested or proposed. 

“Well, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Well, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“ Pretty comfortable now, eh, Sam ?” 

“ Pretty veil, Sir,” responded Sam, looking round him in a 
disparaging manner. 

“ Have you seen Mr. Tupman and our other friends ?” 

“ Yes, I have seen ’em. Sir, and they’re a cornin’ to-morrow, 
and wos wery much surprised to hear they w’arn’t to come to- 
day,” replied Sam. 

“ You have brought the things I wanted ?” 

Mr. Weller in reply pointed to various packages which he 
had arranged as neatly as he could, in a corner of the room. 

“ Very well, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, after a little hesita- 
tion ; “ listen to what I am a going to say, Sam. ” 

“ Cert’nly, Sir,” rejoined Mr. Weller, “tire avay. Sir.” 

“ I have felt from the tirst, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, with 
much solemnity, “ that this is not the place to bring a young 
man to.” 

“ Nor an old ’un neither. Sir,” observed Mr. Weller. 

“You’re quite right, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick; “but old 
men may come here through their own heedlessness and un- 
suspicion, and young men may be brought here by the selfish- 
ness of those they serve. It is better for those young men, in 
every point of view, that they should not "remain here. Do 
you understand me, Sam ?” 

“ Yy no. Sir, I do not,” replied Mr. Weller, doggedly. 

“ Try, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Yell, Sir,” rejoined Sara, after a short pause, “I think 1 
see your drift ; and if I do see your drift, it’s my ’pinion that 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


665 


yon’re a cornin’ it a great deal too strong, as the mail-coachman 
said to the snow storm, ven it overtook him.” 

“I see you comprehend me, Sara,” said Mr. Pickwick. 
“ Independently of my wish that you should not be idling about 
a place like this for years to come, I feel that for a debtpr in 
the Fleet to be attended by his man-servant, is a monstrous 
absurdity. — Sam,” said Mr.. Pickwick, “for a time you must 
leave me.” 

“ Oh, for a time, eh. Sir ?” rejoined Mr. Weller, rather sar- 
castically. 

“ Yes, for the time that I remain here,” said Mr. Pickwick. 
“ Your wages I shall continue to pay. Any one of my three 
friends will be happy to take you, were it only out of respect to 
me. And if I ever deleave this place, Sam,” added Mr. Pick- 
wick, with assumed cheerfulness — “ if I do, I pledge you my 
word that you shall return to me instantly.” 

“ Now, I’ll tell you wot it is, Sir,” said Mr. Weller, in a grave 
and solemn voice, “ This here sort o’ thing von’t do at all, so 
don’t let’s hear no more about it.” 

“ I am serious and resolved, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“You air, air you. Sir?” inquired Mr. Weller, firmly. 
“ Wery good, Sir ; then so am I.” ’ 

Thus speaking, Mr. Weller fixed his hat on his head with 
great precision, and abruptly left the room. 

“ Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, calling after him, “ Sam. 
Here.” 

But the long gallery ceased to re-echo the sound of footsteps. 
Sam Weller was gone. 


CHAPTER XLiy. 


BHOWING HOW MR. SAMUEL WELLER GOT INTO DIFFICULTIES. 

In a lofty room, badly lighted and worse ventilated, situate 
in Portugal street, Lincoln’s Inn-fields, there sit nearly the 
whole year round, one, two, three or four gentlemen in wigs, as 
the case may be, with little writing desks before them, con- 
structed after the fashion of those used by the judges of the 
land, barring the French polish ; a box of barristers on their 
right hand ; an inclosure of insolvent debtors on their left ; and 
an inclined plane of most especially dirty faces in their front. 
These gentlemen are the Commissioners of the Insolvent Court, 
and the place in which they sit is the Insolvent Court itself. 

It is, and has been, time out of mind, the remarkable fate of 
this Court to be somehow or other held and understood by the 
general consent of all the destitute shabby-genteel people in 
London, as their common resort, and place of daily refuge. It 
is always full. The steams of beer and spirits perpetually 
ascend to the ceiling, and being condensed by the heat, roll 
down the walls like rain : there are more old suits of clothes in 
it at one time, than will be offered for sale in all Houndsditch 
in a twelvemonth j and more unwashed skins and grizzly beards 
than all the pumps and shaving-shops between Tyburn and 
Whitechapel could render decent between sunrise and sunset. 

It must not be supposed that any of these people have the 
least shadow of business in, or the remotest connexion with, the 
place they so indefatigably attend. If they had, it would be no 
matter of surprise, and the singularity of the thing would cease 
at once. Some of them sleep during the greater part of the 
silting; others carry small portable dinners wrapped in pocket 
handkerchiefs or sticking out of their worn out pockets, and 
munch and listen with equal relish ; but no one among them 
was ever known to have the slightest personal interest in any 
case that was ever brought forward. Whatever they do, there 
(6G6) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


6G7 


they sit from the first moment to the last. When it is heavy, 
rainy weather, they all come in wet through ; and at such times 
the vapors of the Court are like those of a fungus-pit. 

A casual visitor might suppose this place to be a temple 
dedicated to the Genius of Seediness There is not a messenger 
or process-server attached to it, who wears a coat that was made 
for him ; not a tolerably fresh, or wholesome-looking man in 
the whole establishment, except a little white-headed apple- 
faced tip-staff, and even he, like an ill-conditioned cherry pre- 
served in brandy, seems to have artificially dried and withered 
up into a state of preservation, to which he can lay no natural 
claim. The very barristers’ wigs are ill-powdered, and their 
curls lack crispness. 

But the attorneys, who sit at a large bare table below the 
Commissioners,, are, after all, the greatest curiosities. The 
professional establishment of the more opulent of these gentle- 
men, consists of a blue bag and a boy ; generally a youth of the 
Jewish persuasion. They have no fixed offices, their legal 
business being transacted in the parlors of public houses, or the 
yards of prisons, whither they repair in crowds, and canvass for 
’ customers after the manner of omnibus cads. They are of a 
greasy and mildewed appearance ; and if they can be said to 
have any vices at all, perhaps cheating and drinking are the most 
conspicuous among them. Their residences are usually on the 
outskirts of the Rules,” chiefly lying within a circle of one 
mile from the obelisk in St. George’s Fields. Their looks are 
not prepossessing, and their manners are peculiar. 

Mr. Solomon Pell, one of this learned body, was a fat, flabby 
pale man, in a surtout which looked green one minute, and 
brown the next, with a velvet collar of the same cameleon tints. 
His forehead was narrow, his face wide, his head large, and his 
nose all on one side, as if Nature, indignant with the propensi- 
ties she observed in him in his birth, had given it an angry 
tweak which it had never recovered. Being short-necked and 
asthmatic, he respired principally through this feature; so, 
perhaps, what it wanted in ornament it made up in usefulness. 

“ I’m sure to bring him through it,” said Mr. Pell. 

** Are you though ?” replied the person to whom the assur- 
ance was pledged. 


668 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ Certain, sure,” replied Pell ; “ but if he’d gone to any 
irregular practitioner, mind you, I wouldn’t have answered for 
the consequences.” 

Ah I” said the other, with open mouth. 

No, that I wouldn’t,” said Mr. Pell ; and he pursed up his 
lips, frowned, and shook his head mysteriously. 

Now the place where this discourse occurred, was the public 
house just opposite to the Insolvent Court ; and the person with 
whom it was held was no other thaft the elder Mr. Weller, who 
had come there to comfort and console a friend, whose petition 
to be discharged under the act was to be that day heard, and 
whose attorney he was at that moment consulting. 

“ And vere is George ?” inquired the old gentleman. 

Mr. Pell jerked his head in the direction of a back parlor, 
whither Mr. Weller at once repairing, was immediately greeted 
in the warmest and most flattering manner -by some half-dozen 
of his professional brethren, in token of their gratitude at his 
arrival. The insolvent gentlemen, who had contracted a specu- 
lative but imprudent passion for horsing long stages, which had 
led to his present embarrassments, looked extremely well, and 
was soothing the excitement of his feeling with shrimps and 
porter. 

The salutation between Mr. Weller and his friends was 
strictly confined to the freemasonry of the craft ; consisting of 
a jerking round of the right wrist, and a tossing of the little 
finger into the air at the same time. We once knew two 
famous coachmen (they are both dead now, poor fellows) who 
were twins, and between whom an unaffected and devoted 
attachment existed. They passed each other on the Dover 
road every day, for twenty-four years, never exchanging any 
other greeting than this ; and yet, when one died, the other 
pined away, and soon afterwards followed him ! 

“Yell, George,” said Mr. Weller, senior, taking off his upper 
coat, and seating himself with his accustomed gravity. “ How 
is it ? ’All right behind, and full inside ?” 

“All right, old feller,” replied the embarrassed gentleman. 

“ Is the grey mare made -over to any b>ody ?” inquired Mr 
Weller, anxiously. 

George nodded in the affirmative. ’ 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


669 


*^Yell, that’s all right,” said Mr. Weller. “Coach taken 
care on, also ?” 

■ “ Con-signed in a safe quarter,” replied George, wringing 
the heads of half a dozen shrimps, and swallowing them with- 
out any more ado. 

“ Wery good, wery good,” said Mr. Weller. “ Alvays see 
to the drag ven you go down hill. Is the vay-Ijill all clear and 
straight for’erd ?” 

“ The schedule, Sir,” said Pell, guessing at Mr. Weller’s 
meaning, “the schedule is as plain and satisfactory as pen and 
ink can make it. ” 

Mr. Weller nodded in a manner which bespoke his inward 
approval of these arrangements ; and then, turning to Mr. Pell, 
said, pointing to his friend George*, — 

“ Ven do you take his cloths off ?” 

“ Why,” replied Mr. Pell, “ he stands third on the opposed 
list, and I should think it would be his turn in about half an 
hour. I told my clerk to come over and tell us when there was 
a chance.” 

Mr. Weller surveyed the attorney from head to foot with 
great admiration, and said, emphatically, — 

“ And what’ll you take. Sir ?” 

“Why, really,” replied Mr. Pell, “you’re very . Upon 

my word and honor, I’m not in the habit of . It’s so very 

early in the morning, that, actually, I am almost . Well, 

you may bring me three penn’orth of rum, my dear.” 

The officiating damsel, who had anticipated the order before 
it was given, set the glass of spirits before Pell, and retired. 

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Pell, looking round upon the com- 
pany. “ Success to your friend. I don’t like to boast, gentle- 
men ; it’s not my way ; but I can’t help saying, that, if your 

friend hadn’t been fortunate enough to fall into hands that 

but I won’t say what I was going to say. Gentlemen, my 
service to you.” Having emptied the glass in a twinkling, Mr. 
Pell smacked his lips, and looked complacently round on the 
assembled coachmen, who evidently regarded him as a species 
of divinity. 

“ Let me see,” said the legal authority — “ What was I saying, 
gentlemen ?” 


670 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


I think you was remarkin’ as you wouldn’t have no objec- 
tion to another o’ same, Sir,” said Mr. Weller, with grave 
facetiousness. 

Ha, ha 1” laughed Mr. Pell. “ Not bad, not bad. A pro- 
fessional man, too I At this time of the morning it would be 

rather too good a . Well, I don’t know, my dear — ^you 

may do that again, if you please. Hem 1” 

This last sound was a solemn and dignified cough, in which 
Mr. Pell, observing an indecent tendency to mirth in some of 
his auditors, considered it due to himself to indulge. 

“ The late Lord Chancellor, gentlemen, was very fond of me,” 
said Mr. Pell. 

“And wery creditable in him, too,” interposed Mr. Weller. 

“ Hear, hear,” assented Mr. Pell’s client. “ Why shouldn’t 
he be ?” 

“Ah — why, indeed!” said a very red-faced man, who had 
said nothing yet, and who looked extremely unlikely to say any- 
thing more. “ Why shouldn’t he ?” 

A murmur of assent ran through the company. 

“I remember, gentlemen,” said Mr. Pell, “dining with him 
on one occasion ; — there was only us two, but everything as 
splendid as if twenty people had been expected ; the great seal 
on a dumb-waiter at his right hand, and a man in a bag-wig 
and suit of armor guarding the mace with a drawn sword and 
silk stockings, which is perpetually done, gentlemen, night and 
day ; when he said, ‘ Pell,’ he said : ‘ no false delicacy, PelL 
You’re a man of talent; you can get anybody through the In- 
solvent Court, Pell ; and your country should be proud of you.’ 
Those were his very words. — ‘My Lord,’ I said, ‘you flatter 
me.’ — ‘Pell,’ he said, ‘if I do, I’m damned.’” . 

“Did he say that?” inquired Mr. Weller. 

“ He did,” replied Pell. 

“Veil, then,” said Mr. Weller, “I say Parliament ought 
to ha’ taken it up ; and if he’d been a poor man, they would 
ha’ done it.” 

“ But, my dear friend,” argued Mr. Pell, “ it was in confi- 
dence.” 

“ In what ?” said Mr. Weller. 

“Id confidence.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


671 


Oh 1 wery good,” replied Mr. Weller, after a little reflec- 
tion. “ If he damned his-self in confidence, o^ course that was 
another thing.” 

Of course it was,” said Mr. Pell. The distinction’s 
obvious, you will perceive.” 

“ Alters tbe case entirely,” said Mr. Weller. ** Go on. Sir ” 
No ; I will not go on. Sir,” said Mr. Pell, in a low and 
serious tone. “ You have reminded me. Sir, that this conversa- 
tion was private — private and confidential, gentlemen. Gen- 
tlemen, I am a professional man. It may be that I am a good 
deal looked up to, in my profession — it may be that I am not. 
Most people know. I say nothing. Observations have already 
been made, in this room, injurious to the reputation of my 
noble friend. You will excuse me, gentlemen; I was impru- 
dent. I feel that I have no right to mention this matter 
without his concurrence. Thank you. Sir, thank you.” Thus 
delivering himself, Mr. Pell thrust his hands into his pockets, 
and, frowning grimly around, rattled three-halfpence with terri- 
ble determination. 

This virtuous resolution had scarcely been formed, when the 
boy and the blue bag, who were inseparable companions, 
rushed violently into the room, and said (at least the boy did ; 
for the blue bag took no part in the announcement) that the 
case was coming on directly. The intelligence was no sooner 
received than the whole party hurried across the street, and 
began to fight their way into Court — a preparatory ceremony, 
which has been calculated to occupy, in ordinary cases, from 
twenty- five minutes to thirty. 

Mr. Weller being stout, cast himself at once into the crowd, 
with the desperate hope of ultimately turning up in some place 
which would suit him. His success was not quite equal to his 
expectations, for having neglected to take his hat off, it was 
knocked over his eyes by some unseen person, upon whose toes 
he had alighted with considerable force. Apparently this indi- 
vidual regretted his impetuosity immediately afterwards, for, 
muttering an indistinct exclamation of surprise, he dragged the 
old man out into the hall, and, after a violent struggle, rele£^ed 
his head and face. 


43 


672 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Samivel I” exclaimed Mr. Weller, when he was thus enabled 
to behold his rescuer. 

Sam nodded. 

“You’re a dutiful and affectionate little boy, you are, ain’t 
}ou said Mr. Weller, “to come a bonnetin’ your father in 
his old age ?” 

“ How should I know who you wos ?” responded the son. 
“Do you s’pose I wos to tell you by the weight o’ your foot ?” 

“Yell, that’s wery true, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller, molli- 
fied at once ; “ but wot are you a doin’ on here ? Your gov’nor 
can’t do no good here, Sammy. They von’t pass that werdict ; 
they von’t pass it, Sammy.” And Mr. Weller shook his head 
with legal solemnity. 

“Wot a perwerse old file it is I” exclaimed Sam, “alvays a 
goin’ on about werdicts and alleybis, and that. Who said any- 
thing about the werdict ?” 

Mr. Weller made no reply, but once more shook his head 
most learnedly. 

“ Leave off rattlin’ that ’ere nob o’ yourn, if you don’t wan^ 
it to come off the springs altogether,” said Sam impatiently 
“ and behave reasonable. I vent all the vay down to thi 
Markis o’ Granby arter you last night.” 

“ Did you see the Marchioness o’ Granby, Sammy ?” inquired 
Mr. Weller, with a sigh. 

“ Yes, I did,” replied Sam. 

“ How wos the dear creetur lookin’ ?” 

“Wery queer,” said Sam. “ I think she’s a injurin’ herself 
gradivally vith too much o’ that ’ere pine-apple rum, and other 
strong medicines o’ the same natur.” 

“ You don’t mean that, Sammy ?” said the senior earnestly. 

“ I do, indeed,” replied the junior. 

Mr. Weller seized his son’s hand, clasped it, and let it fall. 
There was an expression on his countenance in doing so — not 
of dismay or apprehension, but partaking more of the sweet and 
gentle character of hope. A gleam of resignation, and even of 
cheerfulness, passed over his face too, as he slowly said — “ I ain’t 
quite certain, Sammy ; 1 wouldn’t like to say I wos altogether 
positive, in case of any subsekent disappintment, but I rayther 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


673 


think, my boy — I rayther think that the shepherd’s got the liyer 
complaint I” 

“ Does he look bad ?” inquired Sam. 

“ lie’s uncommon pale,” replied his father, “ ’cept about Iho 
nose, vich is redder than ever. His appetite is wery so-so, but 
he imbibes wonderful.” 

Some thoughts of the rum appeared to obtrude themselves on 
Mr. Weller’s mind as he said this, for he looked gloomy and 
thoughtful ; but very shortly recovered, as was testified by a 
perfect alphabet of winks, in which he was only wont to indulge 
when particularly pleased. 

“ Yell, now,” said Sam, “ about my affair. Just open them 
ears o’ yourn, and don’t say nothin’ till I’ve done.” With this 
brief preface, Sam related, as succinctly as he could, the last 
memorable conversation he had had with Mr. Pickwick. 

** Stop there by himself, poor creetur I” exclaimed the eldei 
Mr. Weller, “without nobody to take his parti It can’t be 
done, Samivel, it can’t be done.” 

“ O’ course it can’t,” asserted Sam ; “ I know’d that afore I 
came.” 

“ Yy, they’ll eat him up alive, Sammy,” exclaimed Mr. 
Weller. 

Sam nodded his concurrence in the opinion. 

“ He goes in rajrther raw, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, meta- 
phorically, “ and he’ll come out done so ex-ceedin’ brown, that 
his most formiliar friends won’t know him. Roast pigeon ’a 
nothin’ to it, Sammy.” 

Again Sam Weller nodded. 

“ It oughtn’t to be, Samivel,” said Mr. Weller, gravely. 

“ It mustn’t be,” said Sam. 

“ Cert’nly not,” said Mr. Weller. 

“Yell now,” said Sam, “you’ve been a prophecyin’ avay 
wery fine, like a red-faced Nixon, ai the six-penny books gives 
picters on.” 

“ Who wos he, Sammy ?” inquired Mr. Weller. 

“ Never mind who he was,” retorted Sam ; “ he warn’t a 
coachman, that’s enough for you.” 

“ I ktt 'w’d a ostler o’ that name,” said Mr. Weller, musing. 


6^4 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ It warn’t him,” said Sam. “ This here gen’lra’n was a pro- 
phet. 

“ Wot’s a prophet ?” inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly 
on his son. 

“ Yy, a man as tells what’s a goin’ to happen,” replied Sam 

* I wish I’d a know’d him, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller. 
** P’raps he might ha’ throw’d a small light on that ’are liver 
complaint as we wos a speakin’ on just now. Hows’ever, if 
he’s dead, and ain’t left the bisness to nobody, there’s an end 
oil it. Go on, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, with a sigh. 

“Yell,” said Sam, “you’re been a prophecyin’ avay about 
wot’Il happen to the gov’nor if he’s left alone. Don’t you see 
any vay o’ takin’ care on him ?” * 

“ No, I don’t Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, with a reflective visage. 

“ No vay at all ?” inquired Sam. 

“ No vay,” said Mr. Weller, “ unless” — and a gleam of intel- 
ligence lighted up his countenance as he sunk his voice to a 
whisper, and applied his mouth to the ear of his offspring — 
— “ unless it is getting him out in a turn-up bed-stead, unbe- 
known to the turnkeys, Sammy, or dressin’ him up like an old 
’ooman vith a green wail.” 

Sara Weller received both of these suggestions with unex- 
pected contempt, and again propounded his question. 

“No,” said the old gentleman; “if he von^t let you stop 
there, I see no vay at all. Its no thoroughfare Sammy — no 
thoroughfare.” 

“Well, then, I’ll tell you wot it is,” said Sara, “ I’ll trouble 
yon for the loan of five-and-tventy pound.” 

“Wot good ’ull that do ?” inquired Mr. Weller. 

“ Never mind,” replied Sam. “ P’raps you may ask for it 
five minits artervards ; p’raps I may say I von’t pay, and cut 
up rough. You von’t think o’ arrestin’ your own son for the 
money, and sendin’ him oft’ to the Fleet, will you, you unnat’ral 
wagabond ?” ‘ 

At this reply of Sam’s, the father and son exchanged a com- 
plete code of sly telegraphic nods and gestures, after which, the 
elder Mr. Weller sat himself down on a stone step, and laughed 
till he was purple. 

“Wot a old image it is I” exclaimed Sam, indignant at this 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


676 


loss of time. “ What are you a settin’ down there for, con- 
wertin’ your face into a street-door knocker, ven there’s so 
much to be done. Yere’s the money 

“ In the boot, Sammy, in the boot,” replied Mr. Weller, com- 
posing his features. “ Hold my hat, Sammy.” 

Having divested himself of this incumbrance, Mr. Weller 
gave his body a sudden wrench to one side, and, by a dex- 
terous twist, contrived to get his right hand into a most 
capacious pocket, from whence, after a great deal of panting 
and exertion, he extricated a pocket-book of the large octavo 
size, fastened by a huge leather strap. From thence he drew 
forth a couple of whip-lashes, three or four buckles, a little 
sample-bag of corn, and finally a small roll of very dirty bank- 
notes, from which he selected the required amount, which he 
handed over to Sam. 

“ And now, Sammy,” said the old gentleman, when the whip- 
lashes, and the buckles, and the sample, had been all put back, 
and the book once more deposited at the bottom of the same 
pocket, “Now, Sammy, I know a gen’lm’n here, as’ll do the 
rest o’ the bisness for us, in no time — a limb o’ the law, Sammy, 
as has got brains like the frogs, dispersed all over his body, and 
reachin’ to the wery tips of his fingers ; a friend of the Lord 
Chancellorship’s, Sammy, who’d only have to tell him what 
he wanted, and he’d lock you up for life, if that wos all.” 

“I say,” said Sam, “none o’ that.” 

“None o’ wot ?” inquired Weller. 

“Yy, none o’ them unconstitootional ways o’ doin’ it,” 
retorted Sam. “ The have-his-ease carcass, next to the per- 
petual motion, is one o’ the blessedest things as wos ever made 
I’ve read that ’ere in the newspapers wery ofen.” 

“ Yell, vot’s that got to do vith it ?” inquired Mr. Weller. 

“Just this here,” said Sam, “that I’ll patronise the inwen- 
tion, and go in, that vay. No visperin’ to the Chancellorship 

I don’t like the notion. It mayn’t be altogether safe, vith 

reference to the gittin’ out agin.” 

Deferring to his son’s feeling upon this point, Mr. Weller at 
once sought the erudite Solomon Pell, and acquainted him with 
his desire to issue a writ instantly for the sum of twenty-five 
pounds, and costs of process, to be executed without delay upon 


676 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


the body of one Samuel Weller ; the charges thereby incurred 
to be paid in advance to Solomon Pell. 

The attorney was in high glee, for the embarrassed coach- 
norser was ordered to be discharged forthwith. He highly 
approved of Sara’s attachment to his master ; declared that it 
strongly reminded him of his own feelings of devotion to his 
friend, the Chancellor ; and at once led the elder Mr. Weller 
down to the Temple, to swear the affidavit of debt, which the 
boy, with the assistance of the blue bag, had drawn up on the 
spot. 

Meanwhile Sara, having been formally introduced to the 
whitewashed gentleman and his friends, as the offspring of Mr. 
Weller, of the Belle Sauvage, was treated with marked dis- 
tinction, and invited to regale himself with them in honor of 
the occasion — an invitation which he was by no means back- 
ward in accepting. 

The mirth of gentlemen of this class is of a grave and quiet 
character usually ; but the present instance was one of peculiar 
festivity, and they relaxed in proportion. After some rather 
tumultuous toasting of the Chief Commissioner and Mr. Solo- 
mon Pell, who had that day displayed such transcendant abili- 
ties, a mottled-faced gentleman in a blue shawl proposed that 
somebody should sing a song. The obvious suggestion was, 
that the mottled-faced gentleman being anxious for a song, 
should sing it himself ; but this the mottled-faced gentleman 
sturdily, and somewhat offensively, declined to do ; upon which, 
as is not unusual in such cases, a rather angry colloquy ensued. 

“ Gentlemen,” said the coach-horser, “ rather than disturb 
the harmony of this delightful occasion, perhaps Mr. Samuel 
Weller will oblige the company.” 

“ Raly, gentlemen,” said Sam, “ I’m not wery much in the 
habit o’ singin’ vithout the instrument ; but anythin’ for a quiet 
life, as the man said ven he took the sitivation at the light- 
house.” 

With this prelude, Mr. Samuel Weller burst at once into the 
following wild and beautiful legend, which, under the impres- 
sion that it is not generally known, we take the liberty of 
quoting. We would beg to call particular attention to the 
monosyllable at the end of the second and fourth lines, which 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


677 


not only enable the singer to take breath at those points, but 
greatly assists the metre. 


ROMANCE. 

Bold Turpin vunce, on Hounslow Heath, 

His bold mare Bess bestrode— er j 
Ven there he see’d the Bishop's ooaoh 
A-comin’ along the road — er. 

So he gallops close to the orse's legs. 

And he claps his head vithin; 

And the Bishop says, “ Sure as eggs is eggs, 

This here’s the bold Dick Turpin!” 

(Chorus.) And the Bishop says, “ Sure as eygs is sggsf 
This here's the bold Turpin /” 

Says Turpin, ** You shall eat your words. 

With a sarse of leaden bul-letj” 

So he puts a pistol to his mouth. 

And he fires it down his gul-let. 

The coachman, he not likin’ the job. 

Set off at a full gal-lop. 

But Dick put a couple of balls in his nob. 

And perwailed on him to stop. 

(Chorus, sarcastically,) But Dick put a couple of halls in his nob. 

And perwailed on him to stop, 

“ I maintain that that ^ere song^s personal to the cloth/> 
said the mottled-faced gentleman, interrupting it at this point. 
** I demand the name of that coachman.” 

Nobody know^d,” replied Sam. “ He hadn^t got his card 
in his pocket.^* 

“I object to the introduction o^ politics,” said the mottled- 
faced gentleman. “ I submit that, in the present company, 
that ^ere soughs political; and, wot’s much the same, that it 
ain’t true. I say that that coachman did not run avay ; but 
that he died game — game as pheasants ; and I won’t hear 
nothin’ said to the contraicey.” 

As the mottled-faced gentleman spoke with great energy and 
determination, and as the opinions of the company seemed 
divided on the subject, it threatened to give rise to fresh alter* 


678 


TUE PICKWICK: PAPERS. 


cation, when Mr. Weller and Mr. Pell most opportunely 
arrived. 

“All rij^ht, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller. 

“ The ofliccr will be here at four o’clock,” said Mr. Pell. “I 
suppose you won’t run away meanwhile — eh ? Ha I ha I” 

“P’raps my cruel pa ’ull relent afore that,” replied Sam, 
with a broad grin. 

“Not I,” said the elder Mr. Weller. 

“ Do,” said Sam. 

“Not on no account,” replied the inexorable creditor. 

“ I’ll give bills for the amount at sixpence a month,” said 
Sam. 

“ I won’t take ’em,” said Mr. Weller. 

“ Ha, ha, ha I very good, very good,” said Mr. Solomon 
Pell, who was making out his little bill of costs ; “ a very 
amusing incident, indeed. Benjamin, copy that,” and Mr. 
Pell smiled again as he called Mr. Weller’s attention to the 
amount. 

“ Thank you, thank you,” said the professional gentleman, 
taking up another of the greasy notes, as Mr. Weller took it 
from the pocket-book. “ Three ten and one ten is five. 
Much obliged to you, Mr. Weller. Your son is a most 
deserving young man, very much so indeed. Sir. It’s a very 
pleasant trait in a young man’s character — very much so,” 
added Mr. Pell, smiling smoothly round, as he buttoned up 
the money. 

“Wot a game it is I” said the elder Mr. Weller, with a 
chuckle. “ A reg’lar prodigy son I” 

“Prodigal — prodigal son, Sii,” suggested Mr. Pell, mildly. 

“Never mind. Sir,” said Mr. Weller, with dignity. “1 
know wot’s o’clock, Sir. Yen I don’t. I’ll ask you. Sir.” 

By the time the officer arrived, Sam had made himself so 
. extremely popular, that the congregated gentlemen determined 
to see him to prison in a body. So off they set ; the plaintiff 
' and defendant walking arm-in-arm, the officer in front, and 
eight stout coachmen bringing up the rear. At Sergeant’s 
Inn Coffee-house the whole party halted to refresh; and, 
the legal arrangements being completed, the procession moved 
on again. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


679 


Some little commotion was occasioned in Fleet Street by 
the pleasantry of the eight gentlemen in the flank, who perse- 
vere! in wanting four abreast ; and it was also found necessary 
to leave the mottled-faced gentleman behind, to fight a ticket- 
porter, it being arranged that his friends should call for him as 
they came back. Nothing but these little incidents occurred 
on the way. When they reached the gate of the Fleet, the 
cavalcade, taking the time from the plaintiff, gave three 
tremendous cheers for the defendant ; and, after having shaken 
hands all round, left him. 

Sam having been formally delivered into the warden’s 
custody, to the intense astonishment of Roker, and to the 
evident emotion of even the phlegmatic Neddy, passed at once 
into the prison, walked straight to his master’s room, and 
knocked at the door. 

“ Come in,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

Sam appeared, pulled off his hat, and smiled. 

“ Ah, Sam, my good lad,” said Mr. Pickwick, evidently 
delighted to see his humble friend again ; “ I had no intention 
of hurting your feelings yesterday, my faithful fellow, by what 
I said. Put down your hat, and let me explain my meaning a 
little more at length.” 

“ Won’t presently do. Sir ?” inquired Sam. 

Certainly,” said Mr. Pickwick ; “ but why not now ?” 

** I’d rayther not now. Sir,” rejoined Sam. 

“ Why ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

** ’Cause,” said Sam, hesitating. 

“ Because of what ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, alarmed at his 
follower’s manner. Speak out Sam. ” 

’Cause,” rejoined Sam ; “ ’cause I’ve got a little bisness as 
I want to do.” 

“ What business ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, surprised at Sam’s 
confused manner. 

“Nothin’ partickler. Sir,” replied Sam. 

“ Oh, if it’s nothing particular,” said Mr. Pickwick, with a 
smile, “you can speak with me first.” 

“I think I’d better see arter it at once,” said Sam, still 
hesitating. 

Mr. Pickwick looked amazed, but said nothing. 


680 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ The fact is ” said Sam, stopping short. 

“ Well I” said Mr. Pickwick. “ Speak out, Sam.” 

Why, the fact is,” said Sam, with a desperate effort, “p’raps 
I’d better see arter nf.y bed afore I do anythin’ else.” 

“ Your hed exclaimed Mr. Pickwick in astonishment. 

“ Yes, my bed, Sir,” replied Sam. “ I’m a prisoner. I was 
arrested this here wery arternoon for debt.” 

“ You arrested for debt I” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sinking 
into a chair. 

“ Yes, for debt. Sir,” replied Sam ; “ and the man as pot me 
in ’ull never let me out, till you g6 yourself.” 

“ Bless my heart and soul I” ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. 
“What do you mean ?” 

“ Wot I say. Sir,” rejoined Sam. “ If it’s forty year to come 
I shall be a pris’ner, and I’m very glad on it ; and if it had 
been Newgate, it vould ha’ been just the same. Now the 
murder’s out, and, damme, there’s an end on it.” 

With these words, which he repeated with great emphasis 
and violence, Sam Weller dashed his hat upon the ground, in a 
most unusual state of excitement ; and then, folding his arms, 
looked firmly and fixedly in his master’s face. 


CHAPTER XLY. 


TREATS OP DIVERS LITTLE MATTERS WHICH OCCURRED IN TEB 
FLEET, AND OP MR. WINKLE’S MYSTERIOUS BEHAVIOR ; AND 
SHOWS HOW THE POOR CHANCERY PRISONER OBTAINED HIS 
RELEASE AT LAST. 


Mr. Pickwick felt a great deal too much touched by the 
warmth of Sam’s attachment, to be able to exhibit any manifesta- 
tion of anger or displeasure at the precipitate course he had 
adopted, in voluntarily consigning himself to a debtor’s prison 
for an indefinite period. The only point on which he persevered 
in demanding any explanation, was, the name of Sam’s detaining 
creditor, but this Mr. Weller as perseveringly withheld. 

“ It ain’t o’ no use. Sir,” said Sam, again and again. “ He’s 
a ma-licious, bad-disposed, vorldly-minded, spiteful, windictive 
creetur, with a hard heart as there ain’t no soft’nin’, as the wirtu- 
ous clergyman remarked of the old gen’lm’n with the dropsy, ven 
he said, that upon the whole ho thought he’d rayther leave his 
property to his vife than build a chapel vith it.” 

“ But consider, Sam,” Mr. Pickwick remonstrated, “ the sum 
is so small that it can very easily be paid, and having made up 
my mind that you shall stop with me, you should recollect how 
much more useful you would be, if you could go outside the 
walls.” 

“ Wery much obliged to you. Sir ” replied Mr. Weller, gravely ; 
“but Pd rayther not.” 

“ Rather not do what, Sam ?” 

“ Yy, Sir, I’d rayther not let myself down to ask a favor o’ 
tills here unremorseful enemy.” 

“ But it is no favor asking him to take the money, Sam,” 


reasoned Mr. Pickwick. 

“Beg your pardon. Sir,” rejoined Sam; “but it ’ud be a wery 
groat favor to pay it, and he don’t deserve none ; that’s vere it 
is. Sir.” 

( 681 ) 


682 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Here Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his nose "with an air of some 
vexation, Mr. Weller thought it prudent to ‘change the theme of 
the discourse. 

“ I takes my determination on principle. Sir,” remarked Sam, 

“ and you takes yours on the same ground ; vich puts me in 
mind o’ the man as killed his-self on principle, vich o’ course 
you’ve heerd on. Sir.” Mr. Weller paused when he arrived at 
this point, and cast a comical look at his master out of the 
corners of his eyes. 

“ There is no of course in the case, Sam,” said Mr. PickwMck, 
gradually breaking into a smile, in spite of the uneasiness which 
Sam’s obstinacy had given him. “ The fame of the gentleman 
in question never reached my ears. ” { 

** No, Sir !” exclaimed Mr. Weller. “You astonish me, Sir ; 
ne wos a clerk in a gov’ment office, Sir.” 

“Was he ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Yes, he wos, Sir,” rejoined Mr. Weller; “and a wery 
pleasant gen’lm’n too — one o’ the precise and tidy sort, as puts 
their feet in little India-rubber fire-buckets ven its vet veather, 
and never has no other bosom friends but hare-skins ; he saved 
up his money on principle, vore a clean shirt ev’ry day on princi- 
ple, never spoke to none of his relations on principle, fear they 
shou’d want to borrow money of him ; and wos altogether, in 
fact, an uncommon agreeable character. He had his hair cut 
on principle vunce a fortnight, and contracted for his clothes on 
the economic principle — ^three suits a year, and send back the 
old vuns. Being a wery reg’lar gen’lm’n he din’d ev’ry day at 
the same place, vere it wos one and ninepence to cut off the 
joint ; and a w'ery good one and ninepence worth he used to 
cut, as the landlord often said, vith the tears tricklin’ down his 
face, let alone the vay he used to poke the fire in the vinter time, 
vich wos a dead loss o’ four-pence ha’peeny a day, to say nothin’ 
at all o’ the aggrawation o’ seein’ him do it. So uncommon 
grand vith it too I ‘ Post arter the next gen’lm’n,’ he sings out 
ev’ry day ven he comes in. ‘ See arter the Times, Thomas ; let 
me look at the Mornin’ Herald, ven it’s out o’ hand ; don’t for- 
get to bespeak the Chronicle ; and just bring the ’Tizer vill 
you and then he’d set vith his eyes fixed on the clock, and 
rush out just a quarter of a minit afore the time, to vaylay the 


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683 


boy as wos a coinin’ in vith the evenin’ paper, vich he’d read 
vith sich intense interest and persewerance, as vorked the other 
customers up to the wery confines o’ desperation and insanity, 
’specially one i-rascible old gen’lm’n as the vaiter wos alvays 
obliged to keep a sharp eye on at sich times, ’fear he should be 
tempted to commit some rash act vith the carving knife. Yell, 
Sir, here he’d stop, occupyin’ the best place for three hours, and 
never takin’ nothin’ arter his dinner but sleep, and then he’d go 
avay to a coffeehouse a few streets off, and have a small pot o’ 
coffee and four crumpets, arter vich he’d valk home to Kensing- 
ton and go to bed. One night he wos took very ill ; sends for 
the doctor ; doctor comes in a green fly, vith a kind o’ Robinson 
Crusoe set o’ steps as he could let down ven he got out, and 
pull up arter him ven he got in, to perwent the necessity o’ the 
coachman’s gettin’ down, and thereby undeceivin’ the public by 
lettin’ ’em see that it wos only a livery coat he’d got on, and 
not trousers to match. ‘Wot’s the matter ?’ says the doctor. 

* Wery ill,’ says the patient. * Wot have you been a eatin’ of ?’ 
says the doctor. ‘ Roast weal,’ says the patient. ‘Wot’s the 
last thing you dewoured ?’ says the doctor. ‘ Crumpets,’ says 
I the patient. ‘ That’s it,’ says the doctor. ‘ I’ll send you a box 
of pills directly, and don’t you never take no more o’ them,’ he 
says. ‘ No more o’ wot ?’ says the patient — ‘ Pills I’ ‘ No ; crum- 
pets,’ says the doctor. ‘ Wy ?’ says the patient, starting up in 
I bed ; ‘ I’ve eat four crumpets ev’ry night for fifteen year on prin- 
I ciple.’ ‘ Yell, then, you’d better leave ’em off on principle,’ says 
i the doctor. ‘ Crumpets is wholesome. Sir,’ says the patient. 

1 ‘ Crumpets is not wholesome. Sir,’ says the doctor, wery fiercely 
I ‘ But they’re so cheap,’ says the patient, cornin’ down a little, 
i ‘ and so wery fillin’ at the price.’ ‘ They’d be dear to you at any 
price *, dear if you wos paid to eat ’em,’ says the doctor. ‘Four 
crumpets a night,’ he says, ‘ vill do your bisness in six months I’ 
The patient looks him full in the face, and turns it over in his 
mind for a long time, and at last he says, ‘ Are you sure o’ that 
ere, Sir ?’ ‘ I’ll stake my professional reputation on it,’ says the 

doctor. ‘ How many crumpets at a sittin’ do you think ’ud 
kill me off al once ?’ says the patient. ‘ I don’t know,’ says the 
[doctor. ‘Ho you think half a crown’s vurth ’ud do it?’ says 
ithe patient. ‘I think it might,’ says the doctor. ‘Three shil-' 


684 


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lins^ vurth ^ud be sure to do it, I s’pose V says the patient. 
‘Certainly,’ says the doctor. ‘Wery good,’ says the patient; 
‘good night.’ Next mornin’ he gets up, has a fire lit, orders 
in three shillins’ vurth o’ crumpets, toasts ’em all, eats ’em all, 
and blows his brains out.” 

“What did he do that for ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, abruptly, 
for he was considerably startled by this tragical termination of 
the narrative. 

“ Wot did he do it for, Sir I” reiterated Sam. “ Wy, in 
support of his great principle that crumpets wos wholesome, 
and to show that he vouldn’t be put out of his vay for no- 
body I” 

With such like shiftings and changings of the discourse, did 
Mr. Weller meet his master’s questioning upon the night of his 
taking up his residence in the Fleet ; finding all gentle remon- 
strance useless, Mr. Pickwick at length yielded a reluctant 
consent to his taking lodgings by the week, of a bald-headed 
cobbler, who rented a small slip room in one of the upper 
galleries. To this humble apartment Mr. Weller moved a 
mattrass and bedding, which he hired of Mr. Poker ; and by 
the time he lay down upon it at night was as much at home as 
if he had been bred in the prison, and his whole family had 
vegetated therein for three generations. 

“ Do you alvays smoke arter you goes to bed, old cock ?” 
inquired Mr. Weller of his landlord, when they had both retired 
for the night. 

“Yes, I does, young bantam,” replied the cobbler. 

“ YUl you allow me to en-quire vy you make up your bed 
under that ’ere deal table ?” said Sam. 

“ ’Cause I was alvays used to a four-poster afore I came 
here, and I find the legs of the table answers just as well,” 
replied the cobbler. 

“ You’re a character. Sir,” said Sam. 

“ I haven’t got anything of the kind belonging to me,” re- 
joined the cobbler, shaking his head ; “ and if you want to meet 
with a good one, I’m afraid you’ll find some difficulty in suiting 
yourself at this register office.” 

The above short dialogue took place as Mr. Weller lay 
extended on his mattrass at one end of the room, and th? 


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685 


cobbler on his at the other ; the apartment being illuminated 
by the light of a rush candle and the cobbler’s pipe, which was 
glowing below the table like a red-hot coal. The conversa- 
tion, brief as it was, prediposed Mr. Weller strongly in his 
landlord’s favor, and raising himst If on his elbow he took a more 
lengthened survey of his appearanc^ than he had yet had either 
time or inclination to make. 

He was a sallow man — all cobblers are ; and had a strong 
bristly beard — all cobblers have ; his face was a queer, good- 
tempered, crooked featured piece of workmanship, ornamented 
with a couple of eyes that must have worn a very joyous expres- 
sion at one time, for they sparkled yet. The man was sixty by 
years, and Heaven knows how old by imprisonment, so that his 
having any look approaching to mirth or contentment was 
singular enough. He was a little man, and being half doubled 
up as he lay in bed, looked about as long as he ought to have 
been without his legs. He had got a great red pipe in his 
mouth, and was smoking and staring at the rushlight in a state 
of enviable placidity. 

“ Have you been here long ?” inquired Sam, breaking the 
silence which had lasted for some time. 

“ Twelve years,” replied the cobbler, biting the end of his 
pipe as he spoke. 

“ Contempt ?” inquired Sam. 

The cobbler nodded. 

Veil, then,” said Sam, with some sternness, ‘*wot do you 
persevere in bein’ obstinit for, vastin’ your precious life avay 
in this here magnified pound ? Vy don’t you give in, and tell 
the Chancellorship that you’re wery sorry for makiu his court 
contemptible, and you won’t do so no more ?” 

The cobbler put his pipe in the corner of his mouth while he 
smiled, and then brought it back to its old place again, but said 
nothing. 

“ Vy don’t you ?” said Sam, urging his question strenuously. 

“ Ah,” said the cobbler, “ you don’t quite understand these 
matters. What do you suppose ruined me, now ?” 

“ Vy,” said Sam, triran ing the rushlight, “ I s’pose the be- 
ginnin’ wos, that you got into debt, eh ?” 

“ Never owed a farden ’ said the cobbler ; “ try again.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“Yell, perhaps,” said Sam, “you bought houses, rich is 
delicate English for goin’ mad ; or took to buildiii^, vich is a 
medical term for bein’ incurable.” 

The cobbler shook his head, and said — “ Try again.” 

“You didn’t go to law, I hope ?” said Sam, suspiciously. | 

“ Never in my life,” repli^ the cobbler. “ The fact is, I was | 
ruined by having money left me.” 

“ Come, come,” said Sam, “ that von’t do. I vish some rich 
enemy ’ud try to vork my destruction in that ’ere vay. I’d let 
him.” 

“ Oh I dare say you don’t believe it,” said the cobbler, 
quietly smoking his pipe “ I wouldn’t if I was you ; but it’s 
true for all that.” 

“ How wos it ?” inquired Sam, half induced to believe the 
fact already by the look the cobbler gave him. 

“ Just this,” replied the cobbler; “an old gentlemen that I 
worked for, down in the country, and a humble relation of whose 
I married — she’s dead, God bless her, and thank Him for it — 
was seized with a fit and went off.” 

“ Where ?” inquired Sam, who was growing sleepy after the 
numerous events of the day. 

“ How should I know where he went ?” said tlie cobbler, 
speaking through his nose in an intense enjoyment of his pipe. 

** He went off dead.” 

“ Oh, that indeed,” said Sam. “ Yell ?” 

“ Well,” said the cobbler, “ he left five thousand pound 
behind him.” 

“And wery gen-teel in him so to do,” said Sam. 

“ One of which,” continued the cobbler, “ he left to me, 
’cause I’d married his relation you see.” 

“ Wery good,” murmured Sam. 

“And being surrounded by a great number of nieces and 
nevys, as was always quarrelling and fighting among themselves 
for the property, he makes me his executor, and leaves the rest 
to me in trust, to divide it among ’em as the will provided.” 

“ Wot do you mean by leavin’ it on trust ?” inquired Sam, 
waking up a little. “If it ain’t ready money, vere’s the use 
on it ?” 

“ It’s a law term, that’s all,” said the cobbler. 


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687 


“ I don’t think that, ” said Sam, shaking his head. “ There’s 
wery little trust at that shop. Hows’cver, go on.” 

“Well,” said the cobbler, “ when I was going to take out a 
probate of the will, the nieces and nevys, who was desperately 
disappointed at not getting all the money, enters a caveat 
against it.” 

“ What’s that I” inquired Sam. 

“ A legal instrument, which is as much as to say, it’s no go, 
replied the cobbler. 

“I see,” said Sam, “a sort of brother-in-law o’ the have-his- 
carcase. Yell.” 

“But,” continued the cobbler, “finding that they couldn’t 
agree among themselves, and consequently couldn’t get up a 
case against the will, they withdrew the caveat, and I paid all 
the legacies. I’d hardly done it, when one nevy brings an 
action to set the will aside. The case comes on some months 
afterwards, before a deaf old gentleman, in a back room some- 
where down by Paul’s Churchyard ; and after four counsels had 
taken a day a-piece to bother him regularly, he takes a veek or 
two to consider and read the evidence in six vollums, and then 
gives his judgment that how the testator was not quite right in 
his head, and I must pay all the money back again, and all the 
costs. I appealed ; the case come on before three or four very 
sleepy gentlemen, who had heard it all before in the other court, 
where they’re lawyers without work ; the only difference being, 
that there they’re called doctors, and in the other places dele- 
gates, if you understand that ; and they very dutifully confirmed 
the decision of the old gentleman below. After that we went 
into Chancery, where we are still, and where I shall always be 
My lawyers have had all my thousand pounds long ago ; and 
what between the estate, as they call it, and the costs, I’m here 
for ten thousand, and shall stop here till I die, mending shoes. 
Some gentlemen have talked of bringing it before parlinraent, 
and I dare say would have done it, only they hadn’t time to 
come to me, and I hadn’t power to go to them ; and they got 
tired of my long letters, and dropped the business. And this 
is God’s truth, without one word of suppression or exaggera- 
tion, as fifty people, both in this place and out of it, very well 
know.” 


44 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


The cobbler paused to ascertain what effect his story had 
produced upon Sara ; but finding that he had dropped asleep, 
knocked the ashes out of his pipe, sighed, put it down, drew the 
bedclothes over his head, and went to sleep too. 

Mr. Pickwick was sitting at breakfast alone next raorning, 
Sam being busily engaged in the cobbler’s room, polishing his 
master’s shoes and brushing the black gaiters, when there came 
a knock at the door, which, before Mr. Pickwick could cry 
“ Come in,” was followed by the appearance of a head of hair 
and a cotton-velvet cap, both of which articles of dress he 
had no difficulty in recognising as the personal property of Mr. 
Smangle. 

“ How are you ?” said that worthy, accompanying the inquiry 
with a score or two of nods ; “ I say, do you expect anybody 
this morning ? Three men — devilish gentlemanly fellows — 
have been asking after you down stairs, and knocking at every 
door on the Hall flight ; for which they’ve been most infernally 
blown up by the collegians that had the trouble of opening ’em.” 

“ Dear me 1 how very foolish of them,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
rising. “Yes, I have no doubt they are some friends whom I 
rather expected to see yesterday.” 

“ Friends of yours I” exclaimed Smangle, seizing Mr. Pick- 
wick by the hand. “ Say no more. Curse me, they’re friends 
of mine from this minute, and friends of Mivins’s too. Infernal 
pleasant gentlemanly dog, Mivins, isn’t he?” said Smangle, 
with great feeling. 

** I know so little of the gentleman,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
hesitating, “ that I ” 

“ I know you do,” interposed Smangle, clasping Mr. Pick ’ 
wick by the shoulder. “You shall know him better. You’ll 
be delighted with him. That man. Sir,” said Smangle, with a 
solemn countenance, “ has comic powers that would do honor 
to Drury Lane Theatre.” 

“ Has he indeed ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Ah, by Jove he has I” replied Smangle. “ Hear him come 
the four cats in the uheelbarrow — four distinct cats, Sir, 1 
pledge you my honor. Now you know that’s infernal clever ; 
dam’me, you can’t help liking a man, wher. you see these sort 


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689 


of traits about him. He’s only one fault — ^that little failing I 
mentioned to you, you know.” 

As Mr. Smangle shook his head in a confidential and sym- 
pathising manner at this juncture, Mr. Pickwick felt that ho 
was expected to say something, so he said “ Ah I” and looked 
restlessly at the door. 

“Ah I” echoed Mr. Smangle, with a long-drawn sigh. 
“ He’s delightful company, that man is. Sir — I don’t know 
better company anywhere ; but he has that one drawback. If 
the ghost of his grandfather. Sir, was to rise before him this 
minute, he’d ask him for the loan of his acceptance on an 
eighteen-penny stamp.” 

“ Dear me !” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 

“Yes,” added Mr. Smangle; “and if he’d the power of 
raising him again, he would, in two months and three days 
from this time, to renew the bill I” 

“These are very remarkable traits,” said Mr. Pickwick; 
“but I’m afraid that while we are talking here, my friends may 
be in a state of great perplexity at not finding me.” 

“ I’ll show ’em the way,” said Smangle, making for the door. 
“ Good day, I won’t disturb you while they’re here, you know. 
By-the-by ” 

As Smangle pronounced the last three words, he stopped sud- 
denly, reclosed the door which he had opened, and, walking 
softly back to Mr. Pickwick, stepped close up to him on tiptoe, 
and said in a very soft whisper — 

“ You couldn’t make it convenient to lend me half-a-crown 
till the latter end of next week, could you ?” 

Mr. Pickwick could scarcely forbear smiling, but managing 
to preserve his gravity, he drew forth the coin, and placed it in 
Mr. Smangle’s palm; upon which that gentleman, with many 
nods and winks, implying profound mystery, disappeared in 
quest of the three strangers, with whom he presently returned ; 
and having coughed thrice, and nodded as many times, as an 
assurance to Mr. Pickwick that he should not forget to pay, he 
shook hands all round in an engaging manner, and at length 
took himself off. 

“My dear friends,” said Mr. Pickwick, shaking hands alter- 
nate ly with Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass, who 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


were tlie three visitors in question, “I am delighted to see 
you ” 

The triumvirate were much affected. Mr. Tupraan shook his 
head deploringly ; Mr. Snodgrass drew forth his handkerchief 
with und'sguised emotion ; and Mr. Winkle retired to the 
window, and sniffed aloud. 

“ Morniu’, gen’Pm’n,” said Sam, entering at the moment with 
the shoes and gaiters ; “ avay vith melincholly, as the little boy 
said ven his schoolmissis died. Yelcome to the college, 
gen’Pm’n.” 

“This foolish fellow,” said Mr. Pickwick, tapping Sam on 
the head as he knelt down to button up his master’s gaiters — 
“ This foolish fellow got himself arrested, in order to be near 
me.” 

“ What I” exclaimed the three friends. 

“Yes, gen’l’m’n,” said Sam, “I’m a — stand steady. Sir, if 
you please — I’m a pris’ner, geu’l’m’n ; con-fined, as the lady 
said.” 

“A prisoner I” exclaimed Mr. Winkle, with unaccountable 
vehemence. 

“Hallo, Sir I” responded Sam, looking up. “Wot’s the 
matter, Sir ?” 

“Iliad hoped, Sam that — nothing, nothing,” said Mr. 
Winkle, precipitately. 

There was something so very abrupt and unsettled in Mr. 
Winkle’s manner, that Mr. Pickwick involuntarily looked at his 
two friends for explanation. 

“We don’t know,” said Mr. Tupman, answering this mute 
appeal aloud. “ He has been much excited for two days past, 
and his whole demeanor very unlike what it usually is. We 
feared there must be something the matter, but he resolutely 
denies it.” 

“ No, no,” said Mr. Winkle, coloring beneath Mr. Pickwick’s 
gaze ; “ There is really nothing. I assure you there is nothing, 
my dear Sir. It will be necessary for me to leave town for a 
short time on private business, and I had hoped to have pre- 
vailed upon you to allow Sam to accompany me.” 

Mr. Pickwick looked more astonished than before. 

“ I think,” faltered Mr. Winkle, “ that Sam would have had 


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691 


no objection to do so ; but of course his being a prisoner hero, 
renders it impossible. So I must go alone.” 

As Mr. Winkle said these words, Mr. Pickwick felt, with 
some astonishment, that Sam’s fingers were trembling at the 
gaiters, as if he were rather surprised or startled. He looked 
up at Mr. Winkle, too, when he had finished speaking, and 
though the glance they exchanged was instantaneous, they 
seemed to understand each other. 

“ Do you know anything of this Sam ?” said Mr. Pickwick, 
sharply. 

“ No, I don’t Sir,” replied Mr. Weller, beginning to button 
with extraordinary assiduity. 

“ Are you sure, Sam ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

^‘Vy, Sir,” responded Mr. Weller; “I’m sure so far, that 
I’ve never heerd anythin’ on the subject afore this moment. If 
I makes any guess about it,” added Sam, looking at Mr. 
Winkle, “ I haven’t got any right to say wot it is, ’fear it should 
be a wrong ’un.” 

“ I have no right to make any further inquiry into the private 
affairs of a friend, however intimate a one,” said Mr. Pickwick, 
after a short silence ; “ at present let me merely say, that I do 
^ot understand this at all. There — we have had quite enough 
of the subject.” 

Thus expressing himself, Mr. Pickwdck led the conversation 
to different topics, and Mr. Winkle gradually appeared more at 
ease, though still very far from being completely so. They had 
all so much to converse about, that the morning very quickly 
passed aw^ay ; and w'hen at three o’clock Mr. Weller produced 
upon the little dining table, a roast leg of muttoiuand an enor- 
mous meat pie, with sundry dishes of vegetables, and pots of 
porter, w^hich stood upon the chairs or the sofa-bedstead, or 
where they could, everybody felt disposed to do justice to the 
meal, notwithstanding that the meat had been purchased and 
dressed, and the pie made and baked at the prison cookery 
hard by. 

To these succeeded a bottle or two of very good wdnc, for 
which a messenger was dispatched by Mr. Pickwick to the 
Horn Cofleehouse, in Doctors’ Commons. The bottle or two, 
indeed might be more properly described as a bottle or six, foi 


692 


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by the time it was drunk and tea over, the bell began to ring 
'br strangers to withdraw. 

But if Air. Winkle’s behavior had been unaccountable in the 
morning, it became perfectly unearthly and solemn when, under 
the influence of his feelings and his share of the bottle or six, 
he prepared to take leave of his friend. He lingered behind, 
until Air Tupraan and Air. Snodgrass had disappeared, and 
then fervently clenched Air. Pickwick’s hand with an expres- 
sion of face, in which deep and mighty resolve was fearfully 
blended with the very concentrated essence of gloom. 

‘‘Good night, my dear Sir,” said Air. Winkle between his 
set teeth. 

“ Bless you, my dear fellow,” replied the warm-hearted Air. 
Pickwick, as he returned the pressure of his young friend’s 
hand. 

“Now, then,” cried Air. Tupman from the gallery. 

“ Yes, yes, directly,” replied Air. Winkle. “ Good night.” 

“ Good night,” said Air. Pickwick. 

There was another good night, and another, and half a 
dozen more after that, and still Air. Winkle had fast hold of his 
friend’s hand, and was looking into his face with the same 
strange expression. 

“ Is anything the matter ?” said Air. Pickwick at last, when 
his arm was quite sore with shaking. 

“ Nothing,” said Air. Winkle. 

“ Well, then, good night,” said Air. Pickwick, attemping to 
disengage his hand. 

“ Aly friend, my benefactor, my honored companion,” mur- 
mured Air. AVjnkle, catching at his wrist. “ Do not judge me 
harshly ; do not, when you hear that, driven to extremity by 
hopeless obstacles, I ” 

“ Now, then,” said Air. Tupman, re-appearing at the door, 
“ are you coming, or are we to be locked in ?” 

“Yes, yes, I am ready,” replied Air. AVinkle. And with a 
violent effort he tore himself away. 

As Air. Pickwick was gazing dowm the passage after them 
in silent astonishment, Sam AVeller appeared at the stair-head, 
and whispered for one moment in Air. Winkle’s ear. 

“ Oh .certainly, depend upon me,” said that gentleman aloud. 


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698 


‘‘Thankee, Sir. You vont forget, Sir said Sam. 

“.Of course not,” replied Mr. Winkle. 

“Visli you luck. Sir,” said Sam, touching his hat. “I 
should very much like to ha’ joined you. Sir ; but the gov’ner 
o’ course is pairamount.” 

“It is very much to your credit that you remain here,” said 
Mr. Winkle. With these words they disappeared down the 
stairs. 

“Very extraordinary,” said Mr. Pickwick, going back into 
his room, and seating himself at the table in a musing attitude. 
“ What can that young man be going to do I” 

He had sat ruminating about the matter for some time, when 
the voice of Roker, the turnkey, demanded whether he might 
come in. 

“ By all means,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ I’ve brought you a softer pillow, Sir,” said Roker, “ in- 
stead of the temporary one you had last night.” 

“ Thank you,” said Mr. Pickwick. “ Will you take a glass 
of wine ?” 

“You’re wery good, Sir,” replied Mr. Roker, accepting the 
proffered glass. “Yours, Sir.” 

“ Thank you,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“I’m sorry to say that your landlord’s wery bad to-night, 
Sir,” said Roker, setting down the glass, and inspecting the 
lining of his hat preparatory to putting it on again. 

“ What I The Chancery prisoner I” exclaimed Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

“ He won’t be a Chancery prisoner wery long. Sir,” replied 
Roker, turning his hat round so as to get the maker’s name 
right side upwards as he looked into it. 

“ You make my blood run cold,” said Mr. Pickwick. “What 
do you mean ?” 

“ He’s been consumptive for a long time past,” said Mr. 
Roker, “and he’s taken very bad in the breath to-night. The 
doctor said six months ago that nothing but change of air 
could save him.” 

“ Great Heaven I” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick ; “ has this man 
been slowly murdered by the law for six months !” 

“ I don’t know about that, Sir,” replied Roker, weighing tho 


694 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


hat by the brims in both hands. I suppose heM have been 
look the same wherever he was. He went into the infirmary 
tliis morning ; the doctor says his strength is to be kept up as 
much as possible, and the warden’s sent him wine and broth 
and that, from his own house. It’s not the warden’s fault 
you know, Sir.” 

“ Of course not,” replied Mr. Pickwick, hastily. 

“ I’m afraid, however,” said Roker, shaking his head, “ that 
it’s all up with him; I offered Neddy two sixpenn’orths to one 
upon it just now, but he wouldn’t take it, and quite right. 
Thankee, Sir. Good night, Sir.” 

“Stay,” said Mr. Pickwick, earnestly. “Where is the in- 
firmary ?” 

“Just over where you slept. Sir,” replied Roker. “I’ll 
show you if you like to come.” Mr. Pickwick snatched up his 
hat without speaking, and followed at once. 

The turnkey led the way in silence, and gently raising the 
latch of the room-door, motioned Mr. Pickwick to enter. It 
was a large, bare, desolate room, with a number of stump bed- 
steads made of iron, on one of which lay stretched the shadow 
of a man ; wan, pale, and ghastly. His breathing was hard 
and thick, and he moaned painfully as it came and went. At 
the bedside sat a short old man in a cobbler’s apron, who, by 
the aid of a pair of horn spectacles, was reading from the Bible 
aloud. It was the fortunate legatee. 

The sick man laid his hand upon his attendant’s arm, and 
motioned him to stop. He closed the book, and laid it on 
the bed. 

“ Open the window,” said the sick man. 

He did so. The noise of carriages and carts, the rattle of 
wheels, the cries of men- and boys ; all the busy sounds of a 
mighty multitude instinct with life and occupation, blended 
into one deep murmur, floated into the room. Above the 
hoarse loud hum arose from time to time a boisterous laugh ; 
or a scrap of some jingling song, shouted forth by one of the 
giddy crowd, would strike upon the ear for an instant, and then 

be lost amidst the roar of voices and the tramp of footsteps 

the breaking of the billows of the restless sea of life that rolled 
heavily on, without. These are melancholy sounds to a quiet 


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696 


listener, at any time ; but bow melancholy to the watcher by 
the bed of death 1 

“There’s no air here,” said the sick man, faintly. “The 
place pollutes it ; it was fresh round about, when I walked 
there, years ago ; but it grows hot and heavy in passing these 
walls. I cannot breathe it.” 

“We have breathed it together a long time,” said the old 
man. “Come, come.” 

There was a short silence, during which the two spectators 
approached the bed. The sick man drew a hand of his old 
fellow prisoner towards him, and pressing it affectionately 
between both his own, retained it in his grasp. 

“ I hope,” he gasped after a while — so faintly that they bent 
their ears close over the bed to catch the half^formed sounds 
his cold blue lips gave vent to — “I hope my merciful Judge 
will bear in mind my heavy punishment on earth. Twenty 
years, my friend, twenty years in this hideous grave. My heart 
broke when my child died, and I could not even kiss him in his 
little coffin. My loneliness since then, in all this noise and riot, 
has been very dreadful. May God forgive me I He has seen 
my solitary, lingering death.” 

He folded his hands, and murmuring something more they 
could not hear, fell into a sleep — only a sleep at first, for they 
saw him smile. 

They whispered together for a little time, and the turnkey 
stooping over the pillow, drew hastily back. “ He has got his 
discharge, by G — d I” said the man. 

He had. But he had grown so like death in life, that they 
knew not when he died. 


CHAPTER XLYI. 


DESCRIPTIVE OP AN AFFECTINa INTERVIEW BETWEEN MR. SAMUEL 
WELLER AND A FAMILY PARTY. MR. PICKWICK MAKES A TOUR 
OF THE DimNUTIVE WORLD HE INHABITS, AND RESOLVES TO 
MIX WITH IT IN FUTURE AS LITTLE AS POSSIBLE. 

A FEW mornings after his incarceration, Mr. Samuel Weller, 
having arranged his master’s room with all possible care, and 
seen him comfortably seated over his books and papers, with- 
drew to employ himself for an hour or two to come, as he best 
could. It was a fine morning, and it occurred to Sam that a 
pint of porter in the open air would lighten his next quarter 
of an hour or so, as well as any little amusement in which he 
could indulge. 

Having arrived at this conclusion, he betook himself to the 
tap, and having purchased the beer, and obtained moreover, the 
day-but-one-before-yesterday’s paper, he repaired to the skittle 
ground, and seating himself on the bench, proceeded to enjoy 
himself in a very sedate and methodical manner. 

First of all, he took a refreshing draught of the beer, and 
then he looked up at a window, and bestowed a Platonic wink 
on a young lady who was pealing potatoes thereat. Then he 
opened the paper, and folded it so as to get the police reports 
outward ; and this being a vexatious and difficult thing to do 
when there is any wind stirring, he took another draught of the 
beer when he had accomplished it. Then he read two lines of 
the paper, and stopped short to look at a couple of men who 
were finishing a game at rackets, which, being concluded, he 
cried out, “ wery good,” in an approving manner, and looked 
around upon the spectators, to ascertain whether their senti- 
ments coincided with his own. This involved the necessity of 
looking up at the windows also ; and as the young lady was 
still there, it was an act of common politeness to wink again, 
and to drink to her good health in dumb show, in another 


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697 


draught of the beer, which Sam did; and having frowned 
hideously upon a small boy who had noted this latter proceed- 
ing with open eyes, li e threw one leg oxer the other, and hold- 
ing the newspaper in both hands, began to read in real earnest. 

lie had hardly composed himself into the needful state of 
abstraction, when he thought he heard his own name proclaimed 
in some distant passage. Nor was he mistaken, for it quickly . 
passed from mouth to mouth, and in a few seconds the air 
teemed with shouts of “ Weller.” 

“Here!” roared Sam, in a stentorian voice. “Wot^s the 
matter ? Who wants him ? Has any express come to say that 
his country-house is afire ?” 

“ Somebody wants you in the hall,” said a man who was 
standing by. 

“Just mind that ^ere paper and the pot, old feller, will you ?” 
said Sam. “ I’m a cornin’. Blessed, if they wos a callin’ me 
to the bar, they couldn’t make more noise about it.” 

Accompanying these words with a gentle rap on the head 
of the young gentleman before noticed, who, unconscious of 
his close vicinity to ’the person in request, was screaming 
“ Weller” with all his might, Sam hastened across the ground, 
and ran up the steps into the hall. Here, the first object that 
met his eyes was his beloved father sitting on a bottom stair, 
with his hat in his hand, shouting out “Weller” in his very 
loudest tone, at half-minute intei^vals. 

“ Wot are you a roarin’ at ?” said Sam impetuously, when 
the old gentleman had discharged himself of another shout; 
“ raakin’ yourself so precious hot that you looks like a aggra- 
wated glass-blower. W ot’s the matter ?” 

“ Aha !” replied the old gentleman, “I begun to be afeerd 
that you’d gone for a walk round the Regency Park, Sammy.” 

“Come,” said Sam, “none o’ them taunts agin the wictim o’ 
avarice, and come off that ’ere step. Wot are you a settin’ 
down there for ? I don’t live there.” 

“ I’ve got sitch a game for you, Sammy,” said the elder Mr. 
Weller, n.sing. 

“ Stop a minit,” said Sam, “you’re all vite behind.” 

“Thats right, Sammy, rub it off,’’ said Mr. Weller as hia 


698 


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son dusted him. “ It might look personal here, if vnn valked 
about vitb any vitevash on vun’s clothes, eh, Sammy 

As Mr. Weller exhibited in this place unequivocal symptoms 
of an approaching fit of chuckling, Sam interposed to stop it. 

“ Keep quiet, do,” said Sam, “ there never vos such a old 
picter-card born. Yot are you bustin^ vith, now 

“ Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, wiping his forehead, “ I’m 
afeerd that vun o’ these days I shall laugh myself into a ap- 
pleplexy, my boy.” 

“Yell, then, wot do you do it for ?” said Sam. “ Now, then, 
wot have you got to say ?” 

“ Who do you think ’s come here vith me, Samivel ?” said 
Mr. Weller, drawing back a pace or two, pursing up his 
mouth, and 'extending his eye-brows. 

“ Pell ?” said Sam. 

Mr. Weller shook his head, and his red cheeks expanded 
with the laughter that was endeavoring to find a vent. 

“ Mottled-faced man, p’r’aps ?” suggested Sam. 

Again Mr. Weller shook his head. 

“ Who then ?” asked Sam. 

“Your mother-in-law,” said Mr. Weller; and it was lucky 
he did say it, or his cheeks must inevitably have cracked from 
their most unnatural distension. 

“ Your-mother -in-law, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, “and 
the red-nosed man, my boy ; and the red-nosed man. Ho I 
ho! ho!” 

With this, Mr. Weller launched into convulsions of laughter, 
while Sam regarded him a broad grin gradually overspreading 
liis whole countenance. 

“ They’ve come to have a little serious talk vith you, Samivel,” 
said Mr. Weller, wiping his eyes. “Don’t let out nothin- 
about the unnat’ral creditor, Sammy.” 

“ Wot, don’t they know who it is ?” inquired Sam. 

“ Not a bit on it,” replied his father. 

“ A^ere are they ?” said Sam, reciprocating all the old gentle- 
man’s grins. 

“ In the snuggery,” rejoined Mr. Weller. “ Catch the red- 
nosed man a goin’ any vere but vere the liquors is ; not he, 
Samivel — not he. Ye’d a wery pleasant ride along the roa<3 


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699 


from the Markis this mornin’, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, when 
he felt himself equal to the task of speaking in an articulate, 
manner. “ I drove the old piebald in that ’ere little shay-eart 
as belonged to your mother-in-law’s first wenter, into vich a 
harm-cheer vos lifted for the Shepherd ; and I’m blest,” said 
Mr. Weller, with a look of deep scorn — “I’m blest if they 
did’nt bring a portable flight o’ steps out into the road a front 
o’ our door for him to get up by.” 

“ You don’t mean that ?” said Sam. 

“ I do mean that, Sammy,” replied his father, “ and I vish 
you could ha’ seen how tight he held on by the sides ven he 
did get up, as if he wos afeerd o’ being precipitayted down full 
six foot, and dashed into a million hatoms. He tumbled in at 
last, however, and avay ve vent ; and I rayther think — I say I 
rayther think, Samivel — that he found his-self a little jolted 
ven ve turned the corners.” 

“Wot I s’pose you happened to drive up agin a post or 
two ?” said Sam. 

“I’m afeerd,” replied Mr. Weller, in a rapture of winks — 
“ I’m afeered I took vun or two on ’em, Sammy ; he wos a 
fly in’ out o’ the harm-cheer all the vay.” 

Here the old gentleman shook his head from side to side, 
and was seized with a hoarse internal rumbling, accompanied 
with a violent swelling of the countenance, and a sudden in- 
crease in the breadth of all his features — symptoms which 
alarmed his son not a little. 

“ Don’t be frightened, Sammy — don’t be frightened,” said 
the old gentleman, when, by dint of much struggling, and 
various convulsive stamps upon the ground he had recovered 
his voice. “ It’s only a kind o’ quiet laugh as I’m a tryin’ to 
come, Sammy.” 

“ Veil, if that’s wot it is,” said Sam, “you’d better not try 
to come it agin. You’ll find it a rayther dangerous inven- 
Uon.” 

“ Don’t you like it Sammy ?” inquired the old gentleman. 

“Not at all,” replied Sam. 

“Veil,” said Mr. Weller, with the tears still running down 
his cheeks, “ it ’ud ha’ been a wery great accommodation to me 
if I could ha’ done it, and ’ud ha’ saved a good many vords 


700 


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atween your mother-in-law and me, sometimes ; but I’m afeerd 
yo i’re right, Sammy : it’s too much in the appleplexy line — a 
deal too much, Samivel.” 

This conversation brought them to the door of the snuggery, 
into which Sam — pausing for an instant to look over his 
shoulder, and cast a sly leer at his respected progenitor, who 
was still giggling behind — at once led the way. 

“ Mother-in-law,” said Sam, politely saluting the lady, “ wery 
much obliged to you for this here w'isit. Shepherd how air 
you ?” 

“Oh, Samuel 1” said Mrs. Weller, “This is dreadful.” 

“Not a bit on it, mum,” replied Sam. “Is it Shepherd ?” 

Mr. Stiggins raised his hands, and turned up his eyes, till 
the whites — or rather the yellows — were alone visible, but made 
no reply in words. 

“ Is this here gen’lm’n troubled vith any painful complaint ?” 
said Sam, looking to his mother-in-law for explanation. 

“ The good man is grieved to see you here, Samuel,” replied 
Mrs. Weller. 

“ Oh, that’s it, is it ?” said Sam. “ I wos afeered, from his 
manner, that he might ha’ forgotten to take pepper vith that 
’ere last cowcumber he eat. Set down, Sir ; ve make no extra 
charge for the settin’ down, as the king remarked veu he blow’d 
up his ministers.” 

“Young man,” said Mr. Stiggins, ostentatiously, “I fear 
you are not softened by imprisonment.” 

“ Beg your pardon, Sir,” replied Sam, “ wot was you 
graciously please to hobserve ?” 

“ I apprehend, young man, that your nature is no softer for 
this chastening,” said Mr. Stiggins, in a loud voice. 

“Sir,” replied Sam, “you’re wery kind to say so. I hope 
my nature is not a soft vun. Sir. Wery much obliged to you 
for your gjod opinion, Sir.” 

At this point of the conversation, a sound, indecorously 
approaching to a laugh, was heard to proceed from the chair 
in which the elder Mr. Weller was seated, upon which Mrs. 
Weller, on a hasty consideration of all the circumstances of the 
case, considered it her bounden duty to become gradually 
hysterical 


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701 


“Weller,” said Mrs. W. (the old gentleman was seated In a 
comer) ; “Weller I come forth.” 

“ Wery much obleeged to you, ray dear,” replied Mr. Weller ; 
“but I’m quite comfortable vere I am.” 

Upon this Mrs. Weller bursi into tears. 

“ Wot’s gone wrong,” mum ? said Sara. 

“Oh, Samuel!” replied Mrs. Weller; “'Your father makes 
me wi etched. Will nothing do him good ?” 

“ Do you hear this here ?” said Sam. “ Lady vants to know 
vether nothin’ ’ul do you good.” 

“ Wery much indebted to Mrs. Weller for her po-lite inquiries, 
Sammy,” replied the old gentleman. “I think a pipe vould 
benefit me a good deal. Could I be accommodated, Sammy ?” 

Here Mrs. Weller let fall some more tears, and Mr. Stiggins 
groaned. 

“ Hallo 1 here’s this unfort’nate gen’lem’n took ill agin,” said 
Sam, looking round. “ Yere do you feel it now, Sir ?” 

“ In the same place, young man,” rejoined Mr. Stiggins : “in 
the same place.” 

“ Yere may that be. Sir?” inquired Sam, with great outward 
simplicity. 

“In the buzzim, young man,” replied Mr. Stiggins, placing 
his umbrella on his waistcoat. 

At this affecting reply, Mrs. Weller being wholly unable to 
suppress her feelings, sobbed aloud, and stated her conviction 
that the red-nosed man was a saint ; whereupon Mr. Weller, 
senior, ventured to suggest, in an undertone, that he must be 
the representative of the united parishes of Saint Simon Without 
and Saint Walker Within. 

“I’m afeerd, mum,” said Sam, “that this here gen’lm’n, vitb 
the tvist in his countenance, feels rayther thirsty, vith the melan- 
choly spectacle afore him. Is it the case, mum ?” 

The worthy lady looked at Mr. Stiggins for a reply, and that 
gentleman, with' many rollings of the eye, clenched his throat 
with his right hand, and mimicked the act of swallowing, to 
intimate that he was athirst. 

“I’m afraid, Samuel, that his feelings have made him so, 
indeed,” said Mrs. Weller, mournfully. 

“Wot’s your usual tap, Sir ?” replied Sam. 


702 


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‘‘ Oh, my dear young friend !” replied Mr. Stiggins, “ all taps 
is vanities.” 

‘‘Too true; too true, indeed,” said Mrs. Weller, murmuring 
a groan, and shaking her head assentingly. 

“ Veil,” said Sam, “I des-say they may be. Sir; but vich is 
your partickler wanity. Yicb wanity do you like the flavor 
on best. Sir ?” 

“ Oh, my dear young friend,” replied Mr. Stiggins, “ 
despise them all. If,” said Mr. Stiggins, “if there is any 
one of them less odious than another, it’s the liquor called rum — 
warm, my dear young friend, with three lumps of sugar to the 
tumbler. ” 

“ Wery sorry to say. Sir,” said Sam, “ that they don’t allow 
that partickler wanity to be sold in this here establishment.” 

“ Oh, the hardness of heart of these inveterate men I” ejacu- 
lated Mr. Stiggins. “ Oh, the accursed cruelty of these inhu- 
man persecutors I” 

With these words, Mr. Stiggins again cast up his eyes, and 
rapped his breast with his umbrella ; and it is but justice to 
the reverend gentleman to say, that his indignation appeared 
very real and unfeigned indeed. 

After Mrs. Weller and the red-nosed gentleman had com- 
mented on this inhuman usage in a very forcible manner, and 
invented a variety of pious and holy execrations against its 
authors, the latter recommended a bottle of port wine, warmed 
with a little water, spice, and sugar, as being grateful to the 
stomach, and savoring less of vanity than many other com- 
pounds. It was accordingly ordered to be prepared, and 
pending its preparation, the red-nosed man and Mrs. Weller 
looked at the elder W. and groaned. 

“Yell, Sammy,” said that gentleman, “I hope you’ll find 
your spirits rose by this here lively wisit. Wery cheerful and 
improvin’ conwersation, ain’t it, Sammy ?” 

“You’re a reprobate,” replied Sam; “and I desire you 
von’t address no more o’ them ungraceful remarks to me.” 

So far from being edified by this very proper reply, the elder 
Mr. Weller at once relapsed into a broad grin ; and this inex- 
orable conduct causing the lady and Mr. Stiggins to close their 
eyes and rock themselves to and fro on their chairs, in a trou- 


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708 


bled manner, he furthermore indulged in several acts of panto- 
mime, indicative of a desire to pummel and wring the nose of 
the aforesaid Stiggins, the performance of which appeared to 
afford him great mental relief. The old gentleman very nar- 
rowly escaped detection in one instance ; for Mr. Stiggins hap- 
pening to give a start on the arrival of the negus, brought his 
head in smart contact with the clenched fist with which Mr. 
Weller had been describing imaginary fireworks in the air, 
within two inches of his ear for some minutes previous. 

“Wot are you a reachin out your hand for the tumbler in that 
^ere sawage vay for said Sam, with great promptitude. 
“ Don’t you see you’ve hit the gen’l’m’n ?” 

“I didn’t go to do it, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, in some 
degree abashed by the very unexpected occurrence of the 
incident. 

“ Try an invard application. Sir,” said Sara, as the red- 
nosed gentleman rubbed his head with a rueful visage. “ Wot 
do you think o’ that for a go o’ wanity varm. Sir ?” 

Mr. Stiggins made no verbal answer, but his manner was 
expressive. He tasted the contents of the glass which Sam 
had placed in his hand, put his umbrella on the floor, and tasted 
it again, passing his hand placidly across his stomach twice or 
thrice ; he then drank the whole at a breath, and smacking his 
lips, held out the tumbler for more. 

Nor was Mrs. Weller behind-hand in doing justice to the 
composition. The good lady began by protesting that she 
couldn’t touch a drop — then took a small drop — then a large 
drop — and then a great many drops ; and her feelings being 
of the nature of those substances which are powerfully affected 
by the application of strong waters, she dropped a tear with 
every drop of negus, and so got on melting the feelings down, 
until at length she had arrived at a very pathetic and decent 
pitch of misery. 

The elder Mr. Weller observed these signs and tokens with 
many manifestations of disgust, and when, after a second jug 
of the same, Mr. Stiggins began to sigh in a dismal man- 
ner, he plainly evinced his disapprobation of the whole proceed- 
ings, by sundry incoherent ramblings of speech, among which 
45 


704 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


frequent angry repetitions of the word “ gammon’^ were alone 
distinguishable to the ear. 

“I’ll tell you wot it is, Samivel, my boy,” whispered the old 
gentleman into his son’s ear, after a long and stedfast contem- 
plation of his lady and Mr. Stiggins ; “ I think there must be 
somethin’ wrong in your mother-in-law’s inside, as veil as in 
that o’ the red-nosed man. ” 

“Wot do you mean ?” said Sam. 

“I mean this here, Sammy,” replied the old gentleman, 
“ that wot they drink don’t seem no nourishment to ’em ; it all 
turns to varra vater at vunce, and comes a’ pourin’ out o’ their 
eyes. ’Pend upon it, Sammy, it’s a constitootional infinnity.” 

Mr. Weller delivered this scientific opinion with many con- 
firmatory frowns and nods, which Mrs. Weller remarking, and 
concluding that they bore some disparaging reference either to 
herself or to Mr. Stiggins, or to both, was on the point of be 
coming infinitely worse, when Mr. Stiggins, getting on his legs 
as well as he could, proceeded to deliver an edifying discourse 
for the benefit of the company, but more especially of Mr. 
Samuel, whom he adjured, in moving terms, to be upon ln> 
guard in that sink of iniquity into which he was cast ; to abstain 
from all hypocrisy and pride of heart ; and to take in all things 
exact pattern and copy by him, (Stiggins,) in which case he 
might calculate on arriving, sooner or later, at the comfortable 
conclusion, that, like him, he was a most estimable and blameless 
character, and that all his acquaintances and friends were hope- 
lessly abandoned and profligate wretches ; which consideration, 
he said, could not but aflbrd him the liveliest satisfaction. 

He furthermore conjured him to avoid, above all things, the 
vice of intoxication, which he likened unto the filthy habits of 
the swine, and to those poisonous and baleful drugs which being 
chewed in the mouth are said to filch away the memory. At 
. this point of his discourse, the reverend and red-nosed gentle- 
man became singularly incoherent, and staggering to and fro in 
the excitement of his eloquence, was fain to catch at the back 
of a chair to preserve his perpendicular. 

Mr. Stiggins did not desire his hearers to be upon their guard 
against those false prophets and wretched mockers of religion 
who without sense to expound its first doctrines, or hearts to 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


7or 

feel its first principles, are more dangerons members of society 
than the common criminal ; imposing as they necessarily do 
upon the weakest and worst informed natures, casting scorn and 
contempt on what should be held most sacred, and bringing 
into partial disrepute large bodies of virtuous and well-conducted 
persons of many excellent sects and persuasions ; but as he 
leant over the back of the chair for a considerable time, and 
closing one eye, winked a good deal with the other, it is pre- 
sumed that he thought it all, but kept it to himself. 

During the delivery of this oration, Mrs. Weller sobbed and 
wept at the end of the paragraphs, while Sam, sitting cross- 
legged on a chair and resting his arms on the top-rail, regarded 
the speaker with great suavity and blandness of demeanor, 
occasionally bestowing a look of recognition on the old gentle- 
man, who was delighted at the beginning, and went to sleep 
about half-way. 

“ Bray VO 1 wery pretty I” said Sam, when the red-nosed man 
having finished, pulled his worn gloves on, thereby thrusting his 
fingers through the broken tops till the knuckles were disclosed 
to view — “ Wery pretty.’’ 

“I hope it may do you good, Samuel,” said Mrs. Weller 
solemnly. 

I think it vill, mum,” replied Sam. 

‘‘ I wish I could hope that it would do your father good,” 
said Mrs. Weller. 

^‘Thankee, my dear,” said Mr. Weller, senior. “How do 
l/ow find yourself arter it, my love ?” 

“ Scoffer I” exclaimed Mrs. Weller. 

“ Benighted man I” said the reverend Mr. Stiggins. 

“ If I don’t get no better light than that ’ere moonshine o’ 
yourn, my vorthy creetur,” said the elder Weller, “ it’s wery 
likely as I shall continey to be a night coach till I’m took off 
the road altogether. Now Mrs. We, if the piebald stands at 
livery much longer, he’ll stand at nothin’ as ve go back, and 
p’raps that ’ere harm cheer ull be tipped over into some hedge 
or another, vith the Shepherd in it.” 

At this supposition the reverend "Mr. Stiggins, in evident 
consternation, gathered up his hat and umbrella, and proposed 


706 


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an immediate departure, to which Mrs. Weller assented. Sam 
walked with them to the lodge-gate, and took a dutiful leave. 

“ A-do, Samivel,” said the old gentleman. 

“ Wot’s a-Qo ?” inquired Sam. 

“ Yell, good bye, then,” said the old gentleman. 

“ Oh, that’s wot your a’ aimin’ is it?” said Sam. “Good 
bye, old double-vicket.” 

“Sammy,” whispered Mr. Weller, looking cautiously round ; 
“my duty to your gov’ner, and tell him if he thinks better o’ 
this here bis’ness, to com-moonicate vith me. Me and a cab’ 
net-maker has dewised a plan for gettin’ him out. A pianner, 
Samivel — a pianner I” said Mr. Weller, striking his son on the 
chest with the back of his hand, and falling back a step or two. 

“ Wot do you mean ?” said Sam. 

“A pianner forty, Samivel,” rejoined Mr. Weller in a still 
more mysterious manner, “ as he can have on hire ; vun as von’t 
play, Sammy.” 

“ And wot ’ud be the good o’ that ?” said Sam. 

“ Let him send to my friend, the cab’net-maker, to fetch it 
back, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller. “ Are you avake, now ?” 

“ No,” rejoined Sam. 

“ There ain’t no vurks in it,” whispered his father. “ It ’ull 
hold him easy, vith his hat and shoes on ; and breathe, through 
the legs, vich his holler. Have a passage ready taken for ’Mer- 
riker. The ’Merrikin’ gov’ment vill never give him up, ven 
vunce they finds as he’s got money to spend, Sammy. Let the 
gov’ner stop there till Mrs. Bardell’s dead, or Mr. Dodson and 
Fogg’s hung, vich last ewent I think is the most likely to hap- 
pen first, Sammy ; and then let him come back and write a book 
about the ’Merrikins as’ll pay all Iiis expenses and more, if he 
blows ’em up enough.” 

Mr. Wellei delivered this hurried abstraction of his plot 
with great vehemence of whispers, and then, as if fearful of 
weakening the effect of the tremendous communication by any* 
further dialogue, gave the coachman’s salute, and vanished. 

Sam had scarcely recovered his usual composure of coun- 
tenance, which had been greatly disturbed by the secret com- 
munication of his respected relative, when Mr. Pickwick accosted 
him 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


70 ? 


"Sam,” said that gentleman. 

" Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

" 1 am going for a walk round the prison, and I wish you to 
attend me. I see a prisoner we know coming this way, Sam,” 
said Mr. Pickwick, smiling. 

“Yich, Sir ?” inquired Mr. Weller; “the gen’l’man vith the 
head o’ hair, or the interestin’ captive in the stockin’s ?” 

“ Neither,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick, “He is an older friend 
of yours, Sam.” 

“ O’ mine, Sir !” exclaimed Mr. Weller. 

“You recollect the gentleman very well, I dare say, Sam,” 
replied Mr. Pickwick, “ or else you are more unmindful of your 
old acquaintances than I think you are. Hush I not a word, 
Sam — not a syllable. Here he is.” 

As Mr. Pickwick spoke, Jingle walked up. He looked less 
miserable than before, being clad in a half-worn suit of clothes, 
which, with Mr. Pickwick’s assistance had been released from 
the pawnbroker’s. He wore clean linen too, and had had his 
hair cut. He was very pale and thin, however ; and as he 
crept slowly up, leaning on a stick, it was easy to see that lie 
had suffered severely from illness and want, and was still veiy 
weak. He took off his hat as Mr. Pickwick saluted him, and 
seemed much humbled and abashed at sight of Sam Weller. 

Following close at his heels, came Mr. Job Trotter, in the 
catalogue of w'hose vices, want of faith and attachment to his 
companion could, at all events find no place. He was still 
ragged and squalid, but his face was not quite so hollow as on 
his first meeting with Mr. Pickwick, a few days before. As he 
took off his hat to our benevolent old friend, he murmured some 
broken expressions of gratitude, and muttered something about 
having been saved from starving. 

“Well, well,” said Mr. Pickwick, impatiently interrupting 
him, “you can follow with Sam. 1 want to speak to you, Mr. 
Jingle. Can you walk without his arm ?” 

“ Certainly, Sir — all ready — not too fast — legs shaky — head 
queer — round and round — earth quaky sort of feeling — very.” 

“Here, give me your arm,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ No, no,” said Jingle ; “ won’t indeed — rather not.” 

" Nonsense,” said Mr. Pickwick ; “ lean upon me, I desire, Sir.^ 


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Seeing that he was confhsed and agitated, and uncertain 
\vhat to do, Mr. Pickwick cut the matter short by drawing the 
invalided stroller’s arm through his, and leading him away 
without saying another word about it. 

During the whole of this time, the countenance of Mr. Samuel 
Weller had exhibited an expression of the most overwhelming 
and absorbing astonishment that the imagination can portray. 
After looking from Job to Jingle, and from Jingle to Job in 
profound silence, he softly ejaculated the words, “Yell, I am 
damn’d !” which he repeated at least a score of times, after 
which exertion he appeared wholly bereft of speech, and again 
cast his eyes first upon the one and then upon the other, in 
mute perplexity and bewilderment. 

“Now, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking back. 

“I’m a cornin’. Sir,” replied Mr. Weller mechanically follow- 
ing his master; and still he lifted not his eyes from Mr. Job 
Trotter, who walked at his side in silence. 

Job kept his eyes fixed on the ground for some time, and 
Sam with his, glued to Job’s countenance, ran up against the 
people who were walking about, and fell over little children, 
and stumbled against steps and railings, without appearing at 
ail sensible of it, until Job, looking stealthily up, said — 

“ How do you do, Mr. Weller ?” 

“ It is him I” exclaimed Sam; and having established Job’s 
identity beyond all doubt, he smote his leg, and vented his 
feelings in a long shrill whistle. 

“ Things has altered with me, Sir,” said Job. 

“I should think they had,” exclaimed Mr. Weller, surveying 
his companion’s rags with undisguised wonder. “ This is 
rayther a change for the vorse, Mr. Trotter, as the gen’l’m’n 
said ven he got two doubtful shillin’s and sixpenn’orth o’ 
pocket-pieces for a good half-crown.” 

“ It is indeed,” replied Job, shaking his head. “ There is 
no deception now, Mr. Weller. Tears,” said Job, with a look 
of momentary slyness — “ tears are not the only proofs of dis- 
tress, nor the best ones.” 

“No, they ain’t,” replied Sam, expressively. 

“ They may be put on, Mr. Weller,” said Job. 

“ I know they may,” said Sam ; “ some people, indeed, has 


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709 


^em always ready laid on, and can pull out the plug venever 
they likes. 

“ Yes,” replied Job; “but these sort of things are not so 
easily counterfeited, Mr. Weller, and it is a more painful pro- 
cess to get them up.” As he spoke, he pointed to his sallow 
sunken cheeks, and, drawing up his coat sleeve, disclosed an 
arm which looked as if the bone could be broken at a touch, 
so sharp and brittle did it appear beneath its thin covering of 
flesh. 

“Wot have you been a doin’ to yourself ?” said Sam, re- 
coiling. 

“Nothing,” replied Job. 

“ Nothin’ I” echoed Sara. 

“ I have been doin’ nothing for many weeks past,” said Job; 
“and eating and drinking almost as little.” 

Sam took one comprehensive glance at Mr. Trotter’s thin 
face and wretched apparel, and then seizing him by the arm, 
commenced dragging him away with great violence. 

“ Where are you going Mr. Weller ?” said Job, vainly strug- 
gling in the powerful grasp of his old enemy. 

“ Come on,” said Sara ; “ come on.” He deigned no further 
explanation till they reached the tap, and then called for a pot 
of porter, which was speedily produced. 

“Now,” said Sara, “ drink that up, ev’ry drop on it; and 
turn the pot up side down, to let me see as you’ve took the 
med’cine.” 

“ But my dear Mr. Weller,” remonstrated Job. 

“ Down vith it,” said Sam, peremptorily. 

Thus admonished, Mr. Trotter raised the pot to his lips, and, 
by gentle and almost imperceptible degrees, tilted it into the 
air. He paused once, and only once to draw a long breath, 
but without raising his face from the vessel, which, in a few 
moments thereafter he held out at arm’s length, bottom up- 
wards. Nothing fell upon the ground but a few particles of 
froth, which slowly detached themselves from the rim and 
trickled lazily down. 

“ Veil done,” said Sam. “How do you find yourself arter it ?” 

“Better, Sir. I think I am better,” responded Job. 

“ 0^ course you air,” said Sam, argumentatively. “It’s like 


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puttin’ gas in a balloon ; I can see with the naked eye that you 
gets stouter under the operation. Wot do you say to another 
o’ the same di-mensions.” 

‘‘I would rather not, I am much obliged to you, Sir, ’’replied 
Job — “much rather not.” 

t “Yell, then, what do you say to some wittles ?” inquired 
Sam. 

“ Thanks to your worthy governor. Sir,” said Mr Trotter, 
“ we have half a leg of mutton, baked, at a quarter before three, 
with the potatoes under it, to save boiling.” 

“Wot! Has he been a purwidin’ for you?” asked Sam, 
emphatically. 

“ He has. Sir,” replied Job. “ More than that, Mr. Weller; 
my master being very ill, he got us a room — we were in a 
kennel before — and paid for it. Sir ; and come to look at us at 
night when nobody should know. Mr. Weller,” said Job, with 
real tears in his eyes for once, “ I could serve that gentleman 
till I fell down dead at his feet.” 

“I say,” said Sam, “I’ll trouble you, my friend — none o’ 
that.” 

Job Trotter stood amazed. 

“ None o’ that, I say, young feller,” repeated Sam, firmly. 
“No vun serves him but me. And now ve’re upon it. I’ll le^j 
you into another secret besides that,” said Sam, as he paid for 
the beer. “ I never heerd, mind you, nor read of in any story- 
books, nor see in picters, any angel in tights and gaiters — not 
even in spectacles, as I remember, though that may ha’ been 
done for anythin’ I know to the contrairey ; but mark my vords. 
Job Trotter, he’s a reg’lar thorough-bred angel for all that; 
and let me see the man as ventures to tell me he knows a better 
vun. ’ With this defiance, Mr. Weller buttoned up his change 
in a side pocket ; and with many confirmatory nods and gestures 
by the way, proceeded in search of the subject of discourse. 

They found Mr. Pickwick in company with Jingle, talking 
very earnestly, and not bestowing a look on the groups who 
were congregated on the racket-ground ; they were very motley 
groups too, and well worth the looking at, if it were only in 
idle curiosity. 

“ Well,” said Mr, Pickwick, as Sam and his companion drew 


711 


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nigh, “you will see how your health becomes, and think about 
it meanwhile. Make the statement out for me when you feel 
yourself equal to the task, and I will discuss the subject with 
you when I have considered it. Now go to your room. You 
are tired, and not strong enough to be out long.” 

Mr. Alfred Jingle, without one spark of his old animation — 
with nothing even of the dismal gaiety which he had assumed 
when Mr. Pickwick first stumbled on him in his misery, bowed 
low without speaking, and motioning to Job not to follow him 
just yet, crept slowly away. 

“ Curious scene this, is it not, Sam ?” said Pickwick, look- 
ing good humoredly round. 

“Wery much so. Sir,” replied Sam. “ Venders vill never 
cease,” added Sam, speaking to himself. “I’m very much mis- 
taken if that ’ere Jingle worn’t a doin’ somethin’ in the vater- 
cart vay I” 

The area formed by the wall in that part of the Fleet in 
which Mr. Pickwick stood, was just wide enough to make a 
good racket court, one side being formed, of course, by the 
wall itself, and the other by that portion of the prison which 
looked (or rather would have looked, but for the wall) towards 
St. Paul’s Cathedral. Sauntering or sitting about, in every 
possible attitude of listless idleness, were a great number of 
debtors, the major part of whom were waiting in prison until 
their day of “ going up” before the Insolvent Court should 
arrive, while others had been remanded for various terms, 
which they were idling away as they best could. Some were 
shabby, some were smart, many dirty, a few clean ; but there 
they all lounged, and loitered, and slunk about, with as little 
spirit or purpose as the beasts in a menagerie. 

Lolling from the windows which commanded a view of this 
promenade, were a number of persons ; some in noisy conver- 
sation with their acquaintances below ; others playing at ball 
with some adventurous throwers outside ; and others looking 
on at the racket-players, or watching the boys as they cried 
the game. Dirty, slip-shod women passed and repassed on 
their way to the cooking-house in one corner of the yard ; 
children screamed, and fought, and played together, in another ; 
tbe tumbling of the skittles, and the shouts -of the players, 


712 


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mingled perpetually with these and a hundred other sounds ; ^ 
and all was noise and tumult — save in a little miserable shed a 
few yards off, where there lay, all quiet and ghastly, the body 
of the Chancery prisoner who had died the night before, await- 
ing the mockery of an inquest. The body I It is the lawyer’s 
term for the restless whirling mass of cares and anxieties, affec- 
tions, hopes and griefs, that make up the living man. The law 
had his body, and there it lay, clothed in. grave-clothes, an 
awful witness to its tender mercy. 

“Would you like to see a whistling-shop. Sir?” inquired 
Job Trotter. 

“What do you mean ?” was Mr. Pickwick’s counter inquiry. 

“A vistlin’ shop. Sir,” interposed Mr. Weller. 

“ What is that, Sam ? — A bird-fancier’s ?” inquired Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“ Bless your heart, no, Sir,” replied Job ; “ a wdiistling-shop, 
Sir, is where they sell spirits.” Mr. Job Trotter briefly 
explained here, that all persons, being prohibited under heavy 
penalties from conveying spirits into debtors’ prisons, and such 
commodities being highly prized by the ladies and gentlemen 
confined therein, it had occurred to some speculative turnkey 
to connive, for certain lucrative considerations, at two or three 
prisoners retailing the favorite article of gin, for their own 
profit and advantage. 

“ This plan you see, Sir, has been gradually introduced into 
all the prisons for debt,” said Mr. Trotter. 

“ And it has this very great advantage,” said Sam, “ that 
the turnkeys takes wery good care to seize hold o’ ev’ry body 
but them as pays ’em, that attempts the willainy, and ven it 
gets into the papers they’re applauded for their wigilance ; so 
it cuts two vays — frightens other people from the trade, and 
olewates their own characters.’’ 

“Exactly so, Mr. Weller,” observed Job. 

“Well, but are these rooms never searched to ascertain 
whether any spirits are concealed in them?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Cert’nly they are, Sir,” replied Sam ; “ but the turnkeys 
knows before-hand, and gives the vord to the vistlers, and you 
may vistle for it ven you go to look.” 

By this time, Job had tapped at a door, which was opened 


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713 


by a gentleman wit'fi an uncombed head, who bolted it aftor 
them when they had walked in, and grinned ; upon which Job 
grinned, and Sam also ; whereupon Mr. Pickwick, thinking it 
might be expected of him, kept on smiling till the end of the 
interview. 

The gentleman with the uncombed head, appeared quite satis- 
fied with this mute announcement of their business ; and pro- 
ducing a fiat stone bottle, which might hold about a couple 
of quarts from beneath his bedstead, he filled out three glasses 
of gin, which Job Trotter and Sam disposed of in a moat 
workmanlike manner. 

“ Any more said the whistling gentleman. 

“ No more,’^ replied Job Trotter. 

Mr. Pickwick paid ; the door was unbolted, and out they 
came ; the uncombed gentleman bestowing a friendly nod upon 
Mr. Roker, who happened to be passing at the moment. 

Prom this spot Mr. Pickwick wandered along all the galle- 
ries, up and down all the staircases, and once again round the 
whole area of the yard. The great body of the prison popula- 
tion appeared to be Mivins and Smangle, and the parson, and 
the butcher, and the leg, over and over, and over again. There 
was the same squalor, the same turmoil and noise, the same 
general characteristics in every corner; in the best and the 
worst alike. The whole place seemed restless and troubled ; 
and the people were crowding and flitting to and fro, like the 
shadows in an uneasy dream. 

“ I have seen enough,” said Mr. Pickwick, as he threw him- 
self into a chair in his little apartment. “ My head aches with 
these scenes, and ray heart too. Henceforth I will be a 
prisoner in my own room.” 

And Mr. Pickwick stedfastly adhered to this determination. 
For three long months he remained shut up all day, only steal- 
ing out at night to breathe the air when the greater part of his 
fellow prisoners were in bed or carousing in their rooms. His 
imalth wis evidently beginning to suffer from the closeness of 
liis confinement, but neither the often-repeated entreaties of 
Perker and his friends, nor the still more frequently repeated 
warnings and admonitions of Mr. Samuel Weller, could induce 
him to alter one jot of his inflexible resolution. 


CHAPTER XLYII. 


RECORDS A TOUCHING ACT OP DELICATE FEELING NOT UNMIXED 

WITH PLEASANTRY, ACHIEVED AND PERFORMED BY MESSRS. 

DODSON AND FOGG. 

It was within a week of the close of the month of July, that 
a hackney cabriolet, number unrecorded, was seen to proceed at 
a rapid pace up Goswell-street ; three people were squeezed 
into it besides the driver, who sat, of course, in his own partic- 
ular little dickey at the side; over the apron were hung two 
shawls, belonging, to all appearances, to two small vixenish- 
looking ladies under the apron, between whom, compressed into 
a very small compass, there was stowed away a gentleman of 
heavy and subdued demeanor, who, whenever he ventured to 
make an observation, was snapped up short by one of the 
vixenish-looking ladies before-mentioned. Lastly, the twt 
vixenish ladies and the heavy gentleman were giving the drive) 
contradictory directions, all tending to the one point, that h( 
should stop at Mrs. BardelPs door, which the heavy gentleman 
in direct oppositon to, and defiance of, the vixenish ladies, con- 
tended was a green door and not a yellow one. 

“ Stop at the house with the green door, driver,” said the 
heavy gentleman. 

“ Oh I you prewerse creetur !” exclaimed one of the vixenish 
ladies. “Drive to the ouse with the yellow door, cabmin.” 

Upon this the cabman, who in a sudden effort to pull up at 
the house with the green door, had pulled the horse up so high 
that he nearly pulled him backwards into the cabriolet, let the 
animal’s fore legs down to the ground again, and paused. 

“ Now, vere am I to pull up inquired the driver. “ Settle 
it among yourselves. All I ask is, vere 

Here the contest was renewed with increased violence, and 
the horse being troubled with a fly on his nose, the cabmajj 
( 714 ) 


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715 


humanely employed his leisure in lashing him about the head 
on the counter-irritation principle. 

“ Most wotes carries the day,’’ said one of the vixenish ladies, 
at length. “ The ouse with the yellow door cabmin.” 

But after the cabriolet had dashed up in splendid style to the 
house with the yellow door, “ making,” as one of the vixenish 
ladies triumphantly said, “ acterrally more noise than if one 
had come in one’s own carriage” — and after the driver had 
dismounted to assist the ladies in getting out, the small round 
head of Master Thomas Bardell was thrust out of the one pair 
window of a house with a red door a few numbers off. 

“ Aggrawatin’ thing,” said the vixenish lady last mentioned, 
darting a withering glance at the heavy gentleman. 

“ My dear, it’s not my fault,” said the gentleman. 

“Don’t talk to me, you creetur, don’t,” retorted the lady. 
“ The house with the red door, cabmin. Oh 1 if ever a woman 
was troubled with a ruffinly creetur, that takes a pride and 
pleasure in disgracing his wife on every possible occasion a/bre 
strangers, I am that woman I” 

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Raddle,” said the 
other little woman, who was no other than Mrs. Cluppins. 

“ What have I been a doing of?” asked Mr. Raddle. 

“ Don’t talk to me, don’t, you brute, for fear I should be 
perwoked to forgit my sect and strike you,” said Mrs. Raddle. 

While this dialogue was going on, the driver was most 
ignominiously leading the horse by the bridle up to the house 
with the red door, which Master Bardell had already opened. 
Here was a mean and low way of arriving at a friend’s house I 
— no dashing up with all the fire and fury of the animal, no 
jumping down of the driver and loud knocking at the door, no 
openiug the apron with a crash at the very last moment for fear 
of the ladies sitting in a draught, and then the man handing the 
shawls out afterwards as if he were a private coachman. The 
whole edge of the thing had been taken off — it was flatter than 
walking. 

“Well, Tommy,” said Mrs. Cluppins, “how’s your poor 
dear mother ?” 

“ Oh, she’s wery well,” replied Master Bardell. “ She’s in 
the front parlor — all ready. I’m ready too, I am.” Hero 


ne THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

Master Bardell put his hands in his pockets, and jumped ofl 
and on the bottom step of the door. 

“ Is anybody else a goin’, Tommy said Mrs. Cluppins, 
arranging her pelerine. 

“ Mrs. Sanders is going, she is,’’ replied Tommy. “ I’m a 
going too, I am.” t 

“ Drat the boy,” said little Mrs. Cluppins. ** He thinks of 
nobody but himself. Here Tommy, dear.” 

Well,” said Master Bardell. 

“ Who else is a goin’, lovey ?” said Mrs. Cluppins, in an in- 
sinuating manner. 

Oh I Mrs. Rogers is a goin’,” replied Master Bardell, 
opening his eyes very wide as he delivered the intelligence. 

“What! The lady 8,s has taken the lodgings 1” ejaculated 
Mrs. Cluppins. 

Master Bardell put his hands further down into his pockets, 
and nodded exactly thirty-five times, to imply that it was the 
lady lodger and no other. 

“Bless us !” said Mrs. Cluppins. “It’s quite a party.” 

“ Ah, if you knew what was in the cupboard, you’d say so,” 
replied Master Bardell. 

“ What is there. Tommy ?” said Mrs. Cluppins, coaxingly. 
“You’ll tell me, Tommy, I know.” 

“No, I won’t,” replied Master Bardell, shaking his head, 
and applying himself to the bottom step again. 

“ Drat the child 1” muttered Mrs. Cluppins. “ What a 
prowokin’ little wretch it is ! Come, Tommy, tell your dear 
Cluppy.” 

“ Mother said I wasn’t to,” rejoined Master Bardell “ I’m a 
goin’ to have some, I am.” Cheered by this prospect, the 
precocious boy applied himself to his infantile tread-mill with 
increased vigor. 

The above examination of a child of tender years took place 
while Mr. and Mrs. Raddle and the cab-driver were having an 
altercation concerning the fare, which terminated at this point 
in favor of the cabman, Mrs. Raddle came up tottering. 

“Lank, Mary Ann! what’s the matter?” said Mrs. Cluppins. 

“It’s put me all over in such a tremble, Betsy,” replied Mrs. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


717 


Raddle. “Raddle ain’t like a man: he leaves every thins 
to me.” 

This was scarcely fair upon the unfortunate Mr. Raddle, who 
had been thrust aside by his good lady in the commencement of 
the dispute, and peremptorily commanded to hold his tongue. 
He had no opportunity of defending himself, however, for Mrs. 
Raddle gave unequivocal signs of fainting; which being per- 
ceived from the parlor window, Mrs. Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, the 
lodger, and the lodger’s servant, darted precipitately out, and 
conveyed her into the house, all talking at the same time, and 
giving utterance to various expressions of pity and condolence, 
as if she were one of the most suffering mortals on earth. Being 
conveyed into the front parlor, she was there deposited on a 
sofa ; and the lady from the first floor running up to the first 
floor, returned with a bottle of sal volatile, which, holding Mrs. 
Raddle tight round the neck, she applied in all womanly kind- 
ness and pity to her nose, until that lady with many plunges and 
struggles was fain to declare herself decidedly better. 

“Ah, poor thing!” said Mrs. Rogers, “I know what her 
feelin’s is, too well.” 

“ Ah, poor thing ! so do I,” said Mr. Sanders : and then all 
the ladies moaned in unison, and said they knew what it was, 
and they pitied her from their hearts, they did ; even the lodger’s 
little servant, who was thirteen years old, and three feet high, 
murmured her sympathy. 

“ But what’s been the matter ?” said Mrs. Bardell. 

“Ah, what has decomposed you, ma’am?” inquired Mrs. 
Rogers. 

“ I ave been a good deal flurried,” replied Mrs. Raddle, in a 
reproachful manner. Thereupon the ladies cast indignant looks 
at Mr. Raddle. 

“ Why, the fact is,” said that unhappy gentleman stepping for- 
ward, “ when we alighted at this door, a dispute arose with the 

driver of the cabrioily ” A loud scream from his wife at 

the mention of this word, rendered all further explanation m- 
aiidible. 

“You’d better leave us to bring her round. Raddle,” said 
Mrs Cluppins. “ She’ll never get better as long as you’re here.” 

All the ladies concurred in this opinion ; so Mr. Raddle was 


718 


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pushed out of the room, and requested to give hiifiself an airing 
in the back yard, which he did for about a quarter of an hour, 
when Mrs. Bardell announced to him, with a solemn face, that 
he might come in now, but that he must be very careful how he 
behaved towards his wife. She knew he didn’t mean to be 
unkind ; but Mary Ann was very far from strong, and, if he 
didn’t take care, he might lose her when he least expected it, 
which would be a very dreadful reflection for him afterwards, 
and so on. All this Mr. Raddle heard with great submission, 
and presently returned to the parlor in a most lamb-like manner. 

“Why, Mrs. Rogers, ma’am,” said Mrs. Bardell, “you’ve 
never been introduced, I declare. Mr. Raddle, ma’am; Mrs. 
Cluppins, ma’am; Mrs. Raddle, ma’am.” 

“Which is Mrs. Cluppins’s sister,” suggested Mrs. 

Sanders. 

“ Oh, indeed I” said Mrs. Rogers, graciously ; — for she was 
the lodger, and her servant was in waiting, so she was more 
gracious than intimate in right of her position. “ Oh, indeed I” 

Mrs. Raddle smiled sweetly, Mr. Raddle bowed, and Mrs. 
Cluppins said “she was sure she was very happy to have a 
opportunity of being known to a lady which she had heerd so 
much in favior of, as Mrs. Rogers” — a compliment which the 
last-named lady acknowledged witli graceful condescension. 

“Well, Mr. Raddle,” said Mrs. Bardell; “I am sure you 
ought to feel very much honored at you and Tommy being the s 
only gentlemen to escort so many ladies all the way to the 
Spaniard at Hampstead. Don’t you think he ought, Mrs. 
Rogers, ma’am?” 

“ Oh, certainly, ma’am,” replied Mrs. Rogers ; after whom all 
the other ladies responded, “ Oh, certainly.” 

“ Of course I feel it, ma’am,” said Mr. Raddle, rubbing his 
hands, and evincing a slight tendency to brighten up a little. 

“ Indeed, to tell you the truth, I said, as we were coming along 
in the cabrioily ” 

At the recapitulation of the word which awakened so man) 
painful recollections, Mrs. Raddle applied her handkerchief to 
her eyes again, and uttered a half-suppressed scream ; so that 
Mrs. Bardell frowned upon Mr. Raddle, to intimate that he 


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had better not say any thing more ; and desired Mrs. Rogers’s 
servant, with an air, to “ put the wine on.” 

This was the signal for displaying the hidden treasures of the 
closet, which were sundry plates of oranges and biscuits, and a 
V)Ottle of old crusted port — that at one and nine — with another 
of the celebrated East India sherry at fourteen-pence, which 
were all produced in honor of the lodger, and afforded unlimited 
satisfaction to every body. After great consternation had been 
excited in the mind of Mrs. Cluppins, by an attempt on the part 
of Tommy to recount how he had been cross-examined regard- 
ing the cupboard then in action, (which was fortunately nipped 
in the bud by his imbibing half a glass of the old crusted “ the 
wrong way,” and thereby endangering his life for some seconds,) 
the party walked forth in quest of a Hampstead stage. This 
was soon found, and in a couple of hours they all arrived safely 
in the Spaniard Tea-gardens, where the luckless Mr. Raddle’s 
very first act nearly occasioned his good lady a relapse, it being 
neither more nor less than to order tea for seven ; whereas (as 
the ladies one and all remarked), what could have been easier 
than for Tommy to have drank out of any body’s cup, or every 
body’s, if that was all, w'hen the waiter wasn’t looking, which 
would have saved one head of tea, and the tea just as good ! 

However, there was no help for it, and the tea-tray came 
with seven cups and saucers, and bread and butter on the same 
scale. Mrs. Bardell was unanimously voted into the chair, and 
Mrs. Rogers being stationed on her right hand and Mrs. Raddle 
on her left, the meal proceeded with great merriment and success. 

“How sweet the country is, to be sure!” sighed Mrs. Rogers; 
“I almost wish I lived in it always.” 

“ Oh, you wouldn’t like that. Ma’am,” replied Mrs. Bardell, 
rather hastily ; for it was not at all advisable, with reference to 
the lodgings, to encourage such notions ; “ you wouldn’t like 
it, Ma’am.” 

“Oh I I should think you was a deal too lively and sought- 
after, to be content with the country. Ma’am,” said little Mrs. 
Cluppins. 

“ Perhaps I am. Ma’am. Perhaps I am,” sighed the Cret- 
floor lodger. 

“ For lone people as have got nobody to care foi them, or 
46 


720 


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take care of them, or as have been hurt in their mind, or that 
Kind of thing,” observed Mr. Raddle, plucking up a little cheer- 
fulness, and looking round, “ the country is all very well. The 
country for a wounded spirit they say.” 

Now, of all things in the world that the unfortunate man 
could have said, any would have been preferable to this. Of 
course Mrs. Bardell burst into tears, and requested to be led 
from the table instantly, upon which the affectionate child began 
to cry too, most dismally. 

“Would any body believe. Ma’am,” exclaimed Mrs. Raddle, 
turning fiercely to the first-floor lodger, “ that a woman could 
be married to such an unmanly creetur, which can tamper with 
a woman’s feelings as he does, every hour in the day. Ma’am ?” 

“ My dear,” remonstrated Mr. Raddle, “ I didn’t mean any- 
thing, my dear.” 

“You didn’t mean. Sir I” repeated Mrs. Raddle, with great 
scorn and contempt. “ Go away. I can’t bear the sight on 
you, you brute.” 

“You must not flurry yourself, Mary Ann,” interposed Mrs. 
Cluppins. “You really must consider yourself, my dear, which 
you never do. Now go away. Raddle, there’s a good soul, or 
you’ll only aggravate her.” 

“ You had better take your tea by yourself. Sir, indeed,” said 
Mrs. Rogers, again applying the smelling-bottle. 

Mrs. Sanders, who, according to custom was very busy at the 
bread and butter, expressed the same opinion, and Mr. Raddle 
quietly retired. 

After this there was a great hoisting up of Master Bardell, 
who was rather a large size for hugging, into his mother’s arms, 
in which operation he got his boots in the tea-board, and 
occasioned some confusion among the cups and saucers. Bui 
that description of fainting fits, which is contagious among 
ladies, seldom lasts long, so when he had been well kissed and a 
little cried over, Mrs. Bardell recovered, set him down again, 
wondered how she could have been so foolish, and poined out 
some more tea. 

It was at this moment that the sound of approaching wheels 
was heard, and that the ladies looking up, saw a hackney-coach 
stop at the garden-gate. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS, T21 

“More company, said Mrs. Sanders. 

“ It’s a gentleman,” said Mrs. Raddle. 

“ Well, if it ain’t Mr. Jackson, the young man from Dodson 
and Fogg’s !” cried Mrs. Bardell. “Why gracious I Surely 
Mr. Pickwick can’t have paid the damages.” 

“ Or hoflfered marriage !” said Mrs. Cluppins. 

“Dear me, how slow the gentleman is,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Rogers : “ Why doesn’t he make haste !” 

As the lady spoke these words, Mr. Jackson turned from the 
coach where he had been addressing some observations to a 
shabby man in black leggins, who had just emerged from the 
vehicle with a thick ash stick in his hand, and made his way to 
the place where the ladies were seated ; winding his hair round 
the brim of his hat as he came along. 

“ Is anything the matter ? Has anything taken place, Mr. 
Jackson ?” said Mrs. Bardell eagerly. 

“Nothing whatever. Ma’am,” replied Mr. Jackson. “How 
de do, ladies ? I have to ask pardon, ladies, for intruding — 
but the law, ladies — the law.” With this apology Mr. Jackson 
smiled, made a comprehensive bow, and gave his hair another 
wind. Mrs. Rogers whispered Mrs. Raddle that he was really 
an elegant young man. 

“I called in Goswell-street,” resumed Jackson, “and hearing 
that you were here, from the slavey, took a coach and came 
on. Our people want you down in the city directly, Mrs. 
Bardell.” 

“ Lor 1’^ ejaculated that lady, starting at the sudden nature of 
the communication. 

“Yes,” said Jackson, biting his lip. “It’s very important 
and pressing business, which can’t be postponed on any account. 
Indeed, Dodson expressly said so to me, and so did Fogg. I’ve 
kept the coach on purpose for you to go back in.” 

“ How very strange 1” exclaimed Mrs. Bardell. 

The ladies agreed that it was very strange, but were unani- 
mously of opinion that it must be very important, or Dodson 
and Fogg would never have sent ; and further, that the business 
being urgent, she ought to repair to Dodson and Fogg’s with- 
out any delay 

There was a certain degree of pride and importance about 


722 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


being wanted by one’s lawyers in such a monstrous hurry, that 
was by no means displeasing to Mrs. "Rardell, especially as it 
might be reasonably supposed to enhance her consequence in 
the eyes of the first-floor lodger. She simpered a little, affected 
extreme vexation and hesitation, and at last arrived at the con- 
clusion that she supposed she must go. 

“But won’t you refresh yourself after your walk, Mr. Jack- 
son ?” said Mrs. Bardell, persuasively. 

“ Why, really there ain’t much time to lose,” replied Jackson ; 
“ and I’ve got a friend here,” he continued, looking towards the 
man with the ash stick. 

“ Oh I ask your friend to come here. Sir,” said Mrs. Bardell. 
“ Pray ask your friend here. Sir.” 

“ Why, thankee, I’d rather not,” said Mr. Jackson, with some 
embarrassment of manner. “ He’s not much used to ladies’ 
society, and it makes him bashful. If you’ll order the waiter to 
deliver him anything short, he won’t drink it off at once, won’t 
he? — only try him.” Mr. Jackson’s fingers wandered playfully 
round his nose at this portion of his discourse, to warn his hear- 
ers that he was speaking ironically. 

The waiter was at once despatched to the bashful gentleman, 
and the bashful gentleman took something; Mr. Jackson also 
took something, and the ladies took something for hospitality’s 
sake. Mr. Jackson then said that he was afraid it was time to 
go ; upon which Mrs. Sanders, Mrs. Cluppins, and Tommy, 
(who it was arranged should accompany Mrs. Bardell : leaving 
the others to Mr. Raddle’s protection,) got into the coach. 

“ Isaac,” said Jackson, as Mrs. Bardell prepared to get in : 
looking up at the man with the ash stick, who was seated on the 
box, smoking a cigar. 

“ Well.” 

“ This is Mrs. Bardell.” 

“ Oh, I know’d that, long ago,” said the man. 

Mrs. Bardell got in, Mr. Jackson got in after her, and aw^ay 
they drove. Mrs. Bardell could not help ruminating on what 
Mr. Jackson’s friend had said. Shrewd creatures, those law- 
yers : Lord bless us, how they find people out I 

“ Sad thing about these costs of our people’s, ain’t it ?” said 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


728 


JackHon, when Mrs. Chippins and Mrs. Sanders had fallen 
asleep ; ^‘yonr bill of costs I mean.” 

“I’m very sorry they can’t get them,” replied Mrs. Bardell. 
“ But if you law gentlemen do these things on speculation, why 
you must get a loss now and then, you know.” 

“You gave them a cognovit for the amount of your costa 
after the trial, I’m told,” said Jackson. 

“ Yes. Just as a matter of form,” replied Mrs. Bardell. 

“ Certainly,” replied Jackson, drily. “ Quite a matter of 
form. Quite. ” 

On they drove, and Mrs. Bardell fell asleep. She was 
awakened after some time by the stopping of the coach. 

“ Bless us !” said the lady, “ are we at Freeman’s Court ?” 

“We’re not going quite so far,” replied Jackson. “ Have the 
goodness to step out.” 

Mrs. Bardell, not yet thoroughly awake, complied. It was a 
curious place : — a large wall with a gate in the middle, and a 
gas-light burning inside. 

“ Now, ladies,” cried the man with the ash stick, looking into 
the coach, and shaking Mrs. Sanders to wake her, “ Come.” 
Rousing her friend, Mrs. Sanders alighted. Mrs. Bardell, 
leaning on Jackson’s arm, and leading Tommy by the hand, had 
already entered the porch. They foHowed. 

The room they turned into, was even more odd-looking than 
the porch. Such a number of men standing about I And they 
stared so 1 

“ What place is this ?” inquired Mrs. Bardell, pausing. 

“Only one of our public offices,” replied Jackson, huiTying 
her through a door, and looking round to see that the other 
women were following. “Look sharp, Isaac.” 

“Safe and sound,” replied the man with the ash stick. The 
door swung heavily after them, and they descended a small flight 
of steps. 

“ Here we are at last. All right and tight, Mrs. Bardell 1’^ 
said Jackson, looking exultingly round. 

“ What do you mean ?” said Mrs. Bardell, with a palpitating 
heart. 

“Just this,” replied Jackson, drawing her a little on one 
side; “don’t be frightened, Mrs. Bardell. There never was a 


724 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


more delicate man than Dodson, ma’am, or a more humane one 
than Fogg. It was their duty in the way of business to tahe 
you in execution for them costs ; but they were anxious to spare 
your feelings as much as they could. What a comfort it must 
be to you to think how it ’s been done ! This is the Fleet, 
ma’am. Wish you good night, Mrs. Bardell. Good nighty 
Tommy.” 

As Jackson hurried away in company with the man with the 
ash stick, another man, with a key in his hand, who had been 
looking on, led the bewildered female to a second short flight of 
steps, leading to a doorway. Mrs. Bardell screamed violently ; 
Tommy roared; Mrs Cluppins shrunk within herself ; and Mrs. 
Sanders made off, without more ado. For there stood the in- 
jured Mr. Pickwick, taking his nightly allowance of air ; and 
beside him leant Samuel Weller, who, seeing Mrs. Bardell, took 
his hat off with mock reverence, while his master turned indig- 
nantly on his heel. 

“Don’t bother the woman,” said the turnkey to Weller; 
“ she’s just come in.” 

“ A pris’uer I” said Sam, quickly replacing his hat. “ Who’s 
the plantives ? What for ? Speak up, old feller.” 

“Dodson and Fogg,” replied the man; “execution on cog- 
novit for costs.” 

“Here Job, Job,” .shouted Sam, dashing into the passage, 
“run to Mr. Perker’s, Job; / want him directly. I see some 
good in this. Here’s a game. Hooray ! Yere’s the gov’nor?^ 

But there was no reply to these inquiries, for Job had started 
furiously o(T, the instant he had received his commission, and Mrs. 
B:ir<lel! li-id fainted in real downright earnest. 


CHAPTER XLVIIl. 


IS CHIEFLY DEVOTED TO MATTERS OF BUSINESS, AND THE 
TEMPORAL ADVANTAGE OF DODSON AND FOGG. — MR. WINKLE 
REAPPEARS UNDER EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES; AND 
PICKWICK’S BENEVOLENCE PROVES STRONGER THAN HIS 
OBSTINACY. 

Job Trotter, abating nothing of his speed, ran up Holbom, 
sometimes in the middle of the road, sometimes on the pave- 
ment, and sometimes in the gutter, as the chances of getting 
along varied with the press of men, women, children and 
coaches, in each division of the thoroughfare, and, regardless 
of all obstacles, stopped not for an instant until he reached the 
gate of Gray’s Inn. Notwithstanding all the expedition he 
had used, however, the gate had been closed a good half hour 
when he reached it, and by the time he had discovered Mr. 
Perker’s laundress, who lived with a married daughter, who 
had bestowed her hand upon a non-resident waiter, and occu- 
pied the one-pair of some number, in some street, closely 
adjoining to some brewery, somewhere behind Gray’s Inn Lane, 
it was within fifteen minutes of the time of closing the prison 
for the night. Mr. Lowten had still to be ferreted out from 
the back parlor of the Magpie and Stump ; and Job had scarcely 
accomplished this object and communicated Sam Weller’s mes- 
sage, than the clock struck ten. 

“ There,” said Lowten, “it’s too late now. You can’t get 
in to-night; you’ve got the key of the street, my friend.” 

“Never mind me,” replied Job, “ I can sleep anywhere. But 
won’t it be better to see Mr. Perker to-night, so that we may 
be there, the first thing in the morning ?” 

“ Why,” responded Lowten, after a little consideration, “ if 
it was in any body else’s case, Perker wouldn’t be best pleased 
at my going up to his house, but as it’s Mr. Pickwick’s, I think 

I may venture to take a cab and charge it to the office.” l)o- 

( 725 ) 


726 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


ciding upon this line of conduct, Mr. Lovvten took up his hat, 
and begging the assembled company to appoint a deputy 
chairman during his temporary absence, led the way to the 
nearest coach stand, and summoning the cab of most promising 
appearance, directed the driver to repair to Montague Place, 
Kussel Square. 

Mr. Perker had had a dinner party that day, as was testified 
by the appearance of lights in the drawing-room windows, the 
sound of an improved grand piano, and an improvable cabinet 
voice issuing therefrom ; and a rather overpowering smell of 
meat which prevaded the steps and entry. In fact a couple of 
very good country agencies happening to come up to town at 
the same time, an agreeable little party had been got together 
to meet them, comprising Mr. Snicks the Life Office Secretary, 
Mr. Prosee the eminent counsel, three solicitors, one confmis- 
sioner of bankrupts, a special pleader from the temple, a small 
eyed peremptory young gentleman, his pupil, who had written 
a lively book about the law of demises, with a vast quantity of 
marginal notes and references ; and several other eminent and 
distinguished personages. From this society, little Mr. Perker» 
detached himself on his clerk being announced in a whisper; 
and repairing to the dining-room, there found Mr. Lowten and 
Job Trotter looking very dim and shadowy by the light of a 
kitchen candle, which the gentleman who condescended to 
appear in plush shorts and cottons fer a quarterly stipend, had, 
with a becoming contempt for the clerk and all things apper- 
taining to “ the office,” placed upon the table. 

Now, Lowten,” said little Mr. Perker, shutting the door, 
“ what’s the matter ? No important letter come in a parcel, is 
there ?” 

“ No, Sir,” replied Lowten. ** This is a messenger from Mr. 
Pickwick, Sir.” 

“ From Pickwick, eh ?” said the little man, turning quickly 
to Job. “ Well ; what is it ?” 

“ Dodson and Fogg have taken Mrs. Bardell in execution for 
her costs, Sir,” said Job. 

“No I” exclaimed Perker, putting his hands in his pockets, 
aud reclining against the sideboard. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


72T 


** Yes,” said Job. “ It seems they got a cognovit out of her 
for the amount of ’em, directly after the trial.” 

“By Jove I” said Perker, taking both hands out of his 
pockets and striking the knuckles of his right against the palm 
of his left, emphatically, “those are the cleverest scamps I ever 
had any thing to do with 1” 

“The sharpest practitioners I ever knew, Sir,” observed 
Lowten. 

“ Sharp I” echoed Peker. “ There’s no knowing where to 
have them.” 

“Very true. Sir, there is not,” replied Lowten; and then 
both master and man pondered for a few seconds with animated 
countenances, as if they were reflecting upon one of the most 
beautiful and ingenious discoveries that the intellect of man 
had ever made. When they had in some measure recovered 
from their trance of admiration. Job Trotter discharged himself 
of the rest of his commission. Perker nodded his head thought- 
fully, and pulled out his watch. 

“At^n precisely I will be there,” said the little man. “ Sam 
is quite right. Tell him so. Will you take a glass of wine, 
Lowten ?” 

“No, thank you. Sir.” 

“You mean yes, I think,” said the little man, turning to the 
sideboard for a decanter and glasses. 

As Lowten did mean yes, he said no more upon the subject, 
but inquired of Job in an audible whisper, whether the portrait 
of Perker, which hung opposite the fire place, wasn’t a wonderful 
likeness, to which Job of course replied that it was. The wine 
being by this time poured out, Lowten drank to Mrs. Perker 
and the children, and Job to Perker. The gentleman in the 
plush shorts and cottons considering it no part of his duty to 
show the people from the office out, consistently declined to 
answer the bell, and they showed themselves out. The attorney 
betook himself to his drawing-room, the clerk to the Magpie 
and Stump, and Job to Co vent Garden Market to spend the 
night in a vegetable basket. 

Punctually at the appointed hour next morning the good- 
humored little attorney tapped at Mr. Pickwick’s door, which 
was opened with great alacrity by Sam Weller. 


728 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


. “Mr. Perker, Sir,” said Sam, announcing the visitor to Mr. 
Pickwick, who was sitting at the window in a thoughtful atti 
tude. “Wery glad you’ve looked in accidentally. Sir. I 
rayther think the gov’ner vants to have a vord and a half Tith 
you, Sir.” 

Perker bestowed a look of intelligence upon Sam, intimating 
that he understood he was not to say he had been sent for j and 
beckoning him to approach, whispered briefly in his ear. 

“Vy, you don’t mean that ’ere. Sir?” starting back in 
excessive surprise. 

Perker nodded and smiled. 

Mr. Samuel Weller looked nt the little lawyer, then at Mr. 
Pickwick, then at the ceiling, then at Perker again ; grinned, 
laughed outright, and finally, catching up his hat from the 
carpet, without further explanation disappeared. 

“ What does this mean ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at 
Perker with astonishment. “What has put Sam into this 
most extraordinary state ?” 

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” replied Perker. “Come, my dear 
Sir, draw up your chair to the table. I have a good deal to 
say to you.” 

“ What papers are those ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, as the 
little man deposited on the table a small bundle of documents 
tied with red tape. 

“ The papers in Bardell and Pickwick,” replied Perker, 
undoing the knot with his teeth. 

Mr. Pickwick grated the legs of his chair against the ground ; 
and throwing himself into it, folded his hands and looked 
sternly — if Mr. Pickwick ever could look sternly — at his legal 
friend. 

“ You don’t like to hear the name of the case ?” said tho 
little man, still busying himself with the knot. 

“No, I do not, indeed,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Sorry for that,” resumed Perker, “ because it will form the 
subject of our conversation. 

“ I would rather that the subject was never mentioned 
between us, Perker,” interposed Mr. PicKwick, hastily. 

“ Pooh, pooh, my dear Sir,” said the little man, untying the 
bundle, and glancing eagerly at Mr. Pickwick out of the corners 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


72D 


of his eyes, “It must be mentioned. I have come here on 
purpose. Now, are you ready to hear what I have to say, my 
dear Sir ? No hurry; if you are not, I can wait. I have got 
this morning’s paper here. Your time shall be mine. There.” 
Hereupon the little man threw one leg over the other, and 
ma<le a show of beginning to read, with great composure and 
application. 

“ Well, well,” said Mr. Pickwick, with a sigh, but softening 
into a smile at the same time. “ Say what you have to say ; 
it’s the old story, I suppose ?” 

“ With a difference, my dear Sir ; with a difference,” rejoined 
Perker, deliberately folding up the paper and putting it into 
his pocket again. “ Mrs. Bardell, the plaintiff in the action, is 
within these walls, Sir.” 

“ I know it,” was Mr. Pickwick’s reply. 

“Very good,” retorted Perker. “And you know how she 
comes here, I suppose ; I mean on what grounds, and at whose 
suit ?” 

“ Yes ; at least I have heard Sam’s account of the matter,” 
said Mr. Pickwick, with affected carelessness. 

“Sam’s account of the matter,” replied Perker, “is, I will 
venture to say, a perfectly correct one. Well, now, my dear 
Sir, the first question I have to ask, is, whether this woman is 
to remain here ?” 

“ To remain here I” echoed Mr. Pickwick. 

“ To remain here, my dear Sir,” rejoined Perker, leaning back 
in his chair, and looking steadily at his client. 

“ How can you ask me ?” said that gentleman. . “ It rests 
with Dodson and Fogg; you know that very well.” 

“ I know nothing of the kind,” retorted Perker, firmly. “ It 
does not rest with Dodson and Fogg; you know the men, 
my dear Sir, as well as I do. It rests solely, wholly, and entirely 
with you.” 

“ With me ?” ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, rising nervously from 
JUS chair, and reseating himself directly afterwards. 

The little man gave a double knock on the lid of his snuff-box, 
opened it, took a great pinch, shut it up again, and repeated the 
words, — “ With you.” 

“I say, my dear Sir,” pursued the little man, who seemed to 


780 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


gather confidence from the snuff ; “ I say that her speedy libe- 
ration or perpetual imprisonment rests with you, and \^ith you 
alone. Hear me out, my dear Sir, if you please, and do not be 
JO very energetic, for it will only put you in a perspiration, and 
do no good whatever. I say,’^ continued Perker, checking off 
each position on a different finger, as he laid it down ; “ I say 
lliat nobody but you can rescue her from this den of wretched- 
ness ; and that you can only do that, by paying the costs of this 
suit — both of plaintiff and defendant — into the hands of these 
Freeman Court sharks. Now jjray be quiet, ray dear Sir.” 

Mr. Pickwick, whose face had been undergoing most surpris- 
ing changes during this speech, and who was evidently on the 
verge of a strong burst of indignation, calmed his wrath as well 
as he could ; and Perker, strengthening his argumentative 
powers with another pinch of snuff, proceeded. 

“ I have seen this woman this morning. By paying the costs, 
you can obtain a full release and discharge from the damages ; 
and furtlier — this I know is a far greater object of consideration 
with you, my dear Sir — a voluntary statement under her hand, 
in the form of a letter to me, that this business was, from the 
very first, fomented and encouraged and brought about, by these 
men, Dodson and Fogg ; that she deeply regrets ever having 
been the instrument of annoyance or injury to you ; and that 
she entreats me to intercede with you, and implore your pardon.” 

“ If I pay her costs for her,” said Mr. Pickwick, indignantly ; 
a valuable document, indeed I” ^ 

“No in the case, my dear Sir,” said Perker, triumphantly. 
“ There is the very letter I speak of. Brought to my office by 
another woman at nine o’clock this morning, before I had set 
foot in this place, or held any communication with Mrs. Bardell, 
apon my honor.” And selecting the letter from the bundle, the 
little lauyer laid it at Mr. Pickwick’s elbow, and took snuff for 
two consecutive minutes without winking. 

“ Is this all you have to say to me ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, 
mildly. 

“ Not quite,” replied Perker. “ I cannot undertake to say at 
this moment, whether the wording of the cognovit, the nature of 
the ostensible consideration, and the proof we can get together 
about the whole conduct of the suit, will be sufficient to justify 


THi. PICKWICK PAPERS. 


731 


an indictment for conspiracy. I fear not, my dear Sii ; they 
are too clever for that, I doubt. I do mean to say, however, 
that the whole facts, taken together, will be sufficient to justify 
you in the minds of all reasonable men. And now, my dear 
Sir, I put it to you. This one hundred and fifty pounds, or 
whatever it may be — take it in round numbers — is nothing to 
you. A jury has decided against you ; well, their verdict is 
wrong, but still they decided as they thought right, and it is 
against you. You have now an opportunity, on easy terms, of 
placing yourself in a much higher position than you ever could 
by remaining here; wffiich would only be imputed by people 
who didn’t know you to sheer, dogged, wrong-headed, brutal 
obstinacy: nothing else, my dear Sir, believe me. Can you 
hesitate to avail yourself of it, when it restores you to youf 
friends, your old pursuits, your health and amusements ; when 
it liberates your faithful and attached servant, whom you other- 
wise doom to imprisonment for the whole of your life ? and 
above all, when it enables you to take the very magnanimous 
revenge — which I know, my dear Sir, is one after your own 
heart — of releasing this woman from a scene of misery and de- 
bauchery, to which no man should ever be consigned if I had 
my will, but the infliction of which, on any female, is frightful 
and barbarous. Now I ask you, my dear Sir, not only as your 
legal adviser, but as your very true friend, will you let slip the 
occasion of attaining all these objects, and doing all this good, 
for the paltry consideration of a few pounds finding their way 
into the pockets of a couple of rascals, to whom it makes no 
manner of difference, except that the more they gain the juore 
they’ll seek, and so the sooner be led into some piece of knavery 
that must end in a crash ? I have put these considerations to 
you, my dear Sir, very feebly and imperfectly, but I ask you to 
think of them — turn them over in your mind as long as you 
please: I wait here most patiently for your answer.” 

Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, before Mr. Perker had 
taken one twentieth part of the snuff wffiich so unusually long an 
address imperatively required to be followed up with, there was 
a low murmuring of voices outside, and then a hesitating knock 
at the door. 

“ Dear, dear,” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had been evi- 


782 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


dently roused by his friend’s appeal ; “ what an annoyance that 
door is 1 Wlio is that 

“Me, Sir,” replied Sam Weller, putting in his head. 

“ I can’t speak to you just now, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick. 
“ I am engag(!d at this moment, Sam.” 

“Beg your pardon, Sir,” rejoined Mr. Weller. “But here’s 
a lady here, Sir, as says she’s somethin’ wery partickler to 
disclose.” 

“ I can’t see any lady,” replied Mr. Pickwick, whose mind 
was filled with visions of Mrs. Bardell. 

“ I vouldn’t make too sure o’ that. Sir,” urged Mr. Weller, 
shaking his head. “ If you know’d who was near. Sir, I rayther 
think you’d change your notes, as the hawk remarked to himself 
vith a cheerful laugh, ven he heered the robin redbreast a 
singin’ round the corner.” 

“ Who is it ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Vill you see her. Sir ?” asked Mr. Weller, holding the door 
in his hand, as if he had got some curious live animal on the 
other side. 

“ I suppose I must,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker. 

“Veil then, all in to begin,” cried Sam. “ Sound the gong, 
draw up the curtain, and enter the two con-spirators.” 

As Sam Weller spoke, he threw the door open, and there 
rushed tumultuously into the room, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle, 
leading after him by the hand the identical young lady who, at 
Dingley Dell, had worn the boots with the fur round the tops ; 
and who, now a very pleasing compound of blushes and com 
fusion, and lilac silk, and a smart hat, and a rich lace veil, looked 
prettier than ever. 

“Miss Arabella Allen!” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, rising from 
his chair. 

“No,” replied Mr. Winkle, dropping on his knees. “Mrs. 
Winkle. Pardon, my dear friend, pardon.” 

Mr. Pickwick could scarcely believe the evidence of his own 
senses, and perhaps would not have done so, but for the corro- 
borative testimony afforded by the smiling countenance of 
Perker, and the bodily presence, in the background, of Sum and 
the pretty housemaid, who appeared to contemplate the pro- 
ceedings with the livelist satisfaction. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


rsz 

** Oh, Mr. Pickwick,” said Arabella in a low voice, as if 
alarmed at the silence, “ can you forgive my imprudence ?” 

Mr. Pickwick returned no verbal response to this appeal, but 
he took off his spectacles in great haste, and seizing both the 
young lady’s hands in his, kissed her a great number of times — 
perliaps a greater number than was absolutely necessary — and 
then, sti’.l retaining one of her hands, told Mr. Winkle he was 
an audacious young dog, and bade him get up, which Mr. 
Winkle, who had been for some seconds scratching his nose with 
the brim of his hat in a penitent manner, did ; whereupon Mr. 
Px'kwick slapped him on the back several times, and then shook 
jands heartily with Perker, who, not to be behindhand in (h<. 
compliments of the occasion, saluted both the bride and the 
pretty housemaid with right good will, and having wrung Mr. 
Winkle’s hand most cordially, wound up his demonstrations of 
joy, by taking snuff enough to set any half dozen men, with 
ordinarily constructed noses, a sneezing for life. 

“ Why, my dear girl,” said Mr. Pickwick, “how has all this 
come about ? Come, sit down, and let me hear it all. How 
well she looks, dosn^t she Perker ?” added Mr. Pickwick, sur- 
veying Arabella’s face with a look, of as much pride and exulta- 
tion, as if she had been his own daughter. 

“ Delightful, my dear Sir,” replied the little man. “ If I 
were not a married man myself, I should be disposed to envy 
yon, you dog, I should.” Thus expressing himself, the little 
lawyer gave Mr. Winkle a poke in the chest, which that gen- 
tleman reciprocated ; after which they both laughed very 
loudly, but not so loudly as Mr. Samuel Weller, who had just 
relieved his feelings by kissing the pretty housemaid under 
cover of the cupbord door. 

“ I can never be grateful enough to you, Sam, I am sure,” 
said Arabella, with the sweetest smile imaginable. “I shall 
not forget your exertions in the garden at Clifton.” 

“Don’t say nothin’ wotever about it, ma’am,” replied Sam. 
‘I only assisted natur, ma’am, as the doctor said to the boy’s 
mother, arter he’d bled him to death.” 

“ Mary, my dear, sit down,” said Mr. Pickwick, cutting short 
cnese compliments. “Now then — how long have you been 
married, eh ?” 


84 


THE riCKWICK PAPERS. 


Arabella looked bashfully at her lord and master, who 
replied, “Only three days.” 

“ Only three days, eh ?” said Mr. Pickwick. “ Why, what 
have you been doing these three months 

“Ah, to be sure,” interposed Perker; “come, account for 
this idleness. You see Pickwick’s only astonishment is, that it 
wasn’t all over months ago.” 

“Why, the fact is,” replied Mr. Winkle, looking at his 
blushing young wife, “ that I could not persuade Bella to run 
away for a long time ; and when I had persuaded her, it was a 
long time more before we could find an opportunity. Mary had 
to give a month’s warning, too, before she could leave her pl.'»'\e 
next door, and we couldn’t possibly have done it withou; her 
assistance.” 

“ Upon my word,” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who by this time 
had resumed his spectacles, and was looking from Arabella to 
Winkle, and from Winkle to Arabella, with as much delight 
depicted in his countenance as warm-heartedness and kindly 
feeling can communicate to the human face — “ upon my word I 
you, seem to have been very systematic in your proceedings. 
And is your brother acquainted with all this, my dear ?” 

“ Oh, no, no,” replied Arabella, changing color. “ Deat- Mr. 
Pickwick, he must only know it from you — from your lips alone. 
He is so violent, so prejudiced, and has been so — so anxious 
in behalf of his friend, Mr. Sawyer,” added Arabella, looking 
down, “that 1 fear the consequences dreadfully.” 

“Ah, to be sure,” said Perker, gravely. “You must take 
this matter in hand for them, my dear Sir. These young men 
will respect you when they would listen to nobody else. You 
must prevent mischief, my dear Sir. Hot blood — hot blood.” 
And the little man took a warning pinch, and shook his head 
doubtfully. 

“ You forget, my love,” said Mr. Pickwick, gently, “ you for- 
get that I am a prisoner. ” 

“No, indeed I do not, my dear Sir,” replied Arabella. “I 
never have forgotten it; never ceased to think how great your 
sufferings must have been in this shocking place, but I hoped 
that what no consideration for yourself would induce you to do, 
a regard to our happiness might. If my brother hears of this 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


735 


first from you, I feel certain we shall be reconciled. He is my 
only relation in the world, Mr. Pickwick, and unless you plead 
for me, I fear I have lost even him. I have done wrong — very, 
very wrong, I know.” Here poor Arabella hid her face in her 
handkerchief, and wept bitterly. 

Mr. Pickwick’s nature was a good deal worked upon by these 
same tears, but when Mrs. Winkle, drying her eyes, took to 
coaxing and entreating in the sweetest tones of a very sweet 
voice, he became particularly restless, and evidently undecided 
how to act, as was evinced by sundry nervous rubbings of his 
spectacle-glasses, nose, tights, head, and gaiters. 

Taking advantage of these symptoms of indecision, Mr. 
Perker (to whom it appeared the young people had driven 
straight that morning,) urged with legal point and shrewdness 
that Mr. Winkle, senior, was still unacquainted with the im- 
portant rise in life’s flight of steps which his son had taken ; 
that the future expectations of the said son depended entirely 
upon the said Winkle, senior, continuing to regard him with 
undiminished feelings of affection and attachment, which it was 
very unlikely he would do if this great event were long kept a 
secret from him; that Mr. Pickwick repairing to Bristol to 
seek Mr. Allen, might with equal reason repair to Birmingham 
to seek Mr. Winkle, senior; lastly, that Mr. Winkle, senior, 
had good right and title to consider Mr. Pickwick as in some 
degree the guardian and adviser of his son, and that it conse- 
quently behoved that gentleman, and was indeed due to his per- 
sonal character, to acquaint the aforesaid Winkle, senior, per- 
sonally, aiid by w’ord of mouth, with the whole circumstances 
of the case, and with the share he had taken in the trans- 
action. 

Mr. Tupraan and Mr. Snodgrass arrived most opportunely 
in this stage of the pleadings, and as it was necessary to explain 
to them all that had occurred, together with the various reasons 
pro and con, the whole of the arguments were gone over again, 
after which everybody urged every argument in his own way 
and at his own length. And at last Mr. Pickwick, fairly argued 
and remonstrated out of all his resolutions, and being in immi- 
nent danger of being argued and remonstrated out of his wits, 
caught Arabella in his arms, and declaring that she was a very 


786 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


amiable creature, and that he didn’t know how it was, but he 
had always been very fond of her from the first, said he could 
never find it in his heart to s:aud in the way of young people’s 
happiness, and that they might do with him as they pleased. 

Mr. Weller’s first act, on hearing this concession, was to dis- 
patch Job Trotter to the illustrious Mr. Pell, with an authority 
to deliver to the bearer the formal discharge which the prudent 
parent had had the foresight to leave in the hands of that 
learned gentleman, in case it should be at any time required ou 
an emergency ; his next proceeding was to invest his whole 
stock of ready money in the purchase of five-and-twenty gallons 
of mild porter, which he himself dispensed on the racket ground 
to everybody who would partake of it ; this done, he hurra’d 
in divers parts of the building until he had lost his voice, and 
then quietly relapsed into his usual collected and philosophical 
condition. 

At three o’clock that afternoon, Mr, Pickwick took a last 
look at his little room, and made his way as well as he could, 
through the throng of debtors who pressed eagerly forward to 
shake him by the hand, until he reached the lodge steps. 
turned here to look about him, and his eye lightened as he did 
so. In all the crowd of wan emaciated faces, he saw not one 
which was not the happier for his sympathy and charity. 

“Perker,” said Mr. Pickwick, beckoning one young man 
towards him, “this is Mr. Jingle, whom I spoke to you about.” 

“Very good, my dear Sir,” replied Perker, looking hard at 
Jingle “ You will see me again, young man, to-morrow. I 
hope you may live to remember deeply what I shall have to 
communicate, Sir.” 

Jingle bowed respectfully, trembled very much as he took 
Mr. Pickwick’s proflTered hand, and withdrew. 

“Job you know, I think?” said Mr. Pickwick, presenting 
that gentleman. 

“ I know the rascal,” replied Perker, good-humoredly. “ See 
after your friend, and be in the way to-morrow at one. Do 
you hear? Now, is there anything more?” 

“Nothing,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick. “You have delivered 
the little parcel I gave you for your old landlord, Sam ?” 

“ T have, Sir,” replied Sam. “ He bust out a cryin’. Sir, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


and said you wos wery geu’rous and thoughtful, and he only 
wished you could have him innockilated for a gallopin’ con- 
sumption, for his old friend as had lived here so long wos dead, 
and he’d noveres to look for another.” 

“ Poor fellow, poor fellow I” said Mr. Pickwick. God bless 
you. my friends I” 

As Mr. Pickwick uttered this adieu, the crowd raised a loud 
shout, and many among them were pressing forward to shake 
him by the hand again, when he drew his arm through Perker’s, 
and hurried from the prison, far more sad and melancholy, for 
the moment, than when he had first entered it. Alas I how 
many sad and unhappy beings had he left behind I and how 
many of them lie caged there still I 

A happy evening was that for at least one party in the 
George and Vulture, and light and cheerful were two of the 
hearts that emerged from its hospitable door next morning ; 
the owners thereof were Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller, the 
former of whom was speedily deposited inside a comfortable 
post coach, with a little dicky behind, in which the latter 
mounted with great agility. 

" Sir,” called out Mr. Weller, to his master. 

“ Well, Sam,” replied Mr. Pickwick, thrusting his head out 
of the window. 

‘‘I wish them horses had been three mcnths and better in 
the Fleet, Sir.” 

“ Why, Sam ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Vy, Sir,” exclaimed Mr. Weller, rubbing his hands “ how 
they vould go if they had been !” 




CHAPTER XLIX 

RELATES now MR. PICKWICK, WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF SAMUEL 

WELLER, ESSAYED TO SOFTEN THE HEART OF MR. BENJAMIN 

ALLEN, AND TO MOLLIFY THE WRATH OF MR. ROBERT SAWYER. 

Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer sat together in the 
little surgery behind the shop, discussing minced veal and 
future prospects, when the discourse, not unnaturally, turned 
upon the practice acquired by Bob the aforesaid, and his pre- 
sent chances of deriving a competent independence from the 
honorable profession to which he had devoted himself. 

“ — Which, I think,” observed Mr. Bob Sawyer, pursuing 
the thread of the subject, “which I think, Ben, are rather 
dubious.” 

“What’s rather dubious?” inquired Mr. Ben Allen, at the 
same time sharpening his intellects with a draught of beer. 
What’s dubious ?” 

“ Why, the chances,” responed Mr. Bob Sawyer. 

“ I forgot,” said Mr. Ben Allen. “ The beer has reminded 
me that I forgot. Bob — yes ; they are dubious. ” 

“ It’s wonderful how the poor people patronise me,” said Mr. 
Bob Sawyer, reflectively. “ They knock me up at all hours of 
the night, take medicine to an extent which I should have con- 
ceived impossible, put on blisters and leeches with a perse- 
verance worthy of a better cause, and make additions to their 
families in a manner which is quite awful. Six of those last- 
named little promissory notes, all* due on the same day Ben, and 
all entrusted to me.” 

“ It’s very gratifying, isn’t it?” said Mr. Ben Allen, holding 
his plate for some more minced veal. 

“ Oh, very,” replied Bob ; “ only not quite so much so as the 
confidence of patients, with a shilling or two to spare, would 
be. This business was capitally described in the advertisement, 
Ben. It is a practice, a very extensive pract ce — and that’s all.” 

( 738 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


789 


“ Bob/’ said Mr. Ben Allen, laying down his knife and fork, 
and fixing his eyes on the visage of his friend — “ Bob, I’ll tell 
you what it is.” 

“ What is it ?” inquired Mr. Bob Sawyer. 

“You must make yourself, with as little delay as possible, 
master of Arabella’s one thousand pounds.” 

“ Three per cent, consolidated Bank annuities, now standing 
in her name in the book or books of the Governor and Com- 
pany of the Bank of England,” added Bob Sawyer, in legal 
phraseology. 

“ Exactly so,” said Ben. “She has it when she comes of 
age, or marries. She wants a year of coming of age, and if 
you plucked up a spirit she needn’t want a month of being 
married.” 

“ She’s a very charming and delightful creature,” quoth Mr. 
Robert Sawyer, in reply ; “ and has only one fault that' I know 
of, Ben. It happens unfortunately, that that single blemish is 
a want of taste. She don’t like me.” 

“ It’s my opinion that she don’t know what she does like,” 
said Mr. Ben Allen, contemptuously. 

“ Perhaps not,” remarked Mr. Bob Sawyer. “ But it’s my 
opinion that she does know what she doesn’t like, and that’s of 
even more importance.” 

“ I wish,” said Mr. Ben Allen, setting his teeth together and 
speaking more like a savage warrior who fed upon raw wolfs 
flesh which he carved with his fingers, than a peaceable young 
gentleman who eat minced veal with a knife and fork — “ I wish 
I knew whether any rascal really has been tampering with her 
and attempting to engage her affections. I think I should 
assassinate him. Bob.” 

“I’d put a bullet in him if I found him out,” said Mr. Sawyer, 
stopping in the course of a lojig draught of beer, and looking 
malignantly out of the porter pot. “If that didn’t do his 
business, I’d extract it afterwards, and kill him that way.” 

Mr. Benjamin Allen gazed abstractedly on his friend for some 
minutes in silence, and then said — 

“ You have never proposed to her point-blank. Bob ?” 

“ No. Because I saw it would be of no use,” replied Mp 
R obert Sawyer. 


740 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


"You shall do it before you are twenty-four hours older,” 
retorted Ben, with desperate calmness. " She shall have you, 
or I’ll know the reason why — I’ll exert my authority.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Bob Sawyer, “we shall see.” 

“We shall see, my friend,” replied Mr. Ben Allen, fiercely. 
He paused for a few seconds, and added in a voice broken by 
emotion, “you have loved her from a child, my friend — you 
loved her when we were boys at school together, and even then 
she was wayward, and slighted your young feelings. Do you 
recollect, with all the eagerness, of a child’s love, one day 
pressing upon her acceptance two small carraway-seed biscuits 
and one sweet apple, neatly folded into a circular parcel with 
the leaf of a copy-book ?” 

“ I do,” replied Bob Sawyer. 

“ She slighted that, I think ” said Ben Allen. 

“She did,” rejoined Bob. “ She said I had kept the parcel 
so long in the pockets of my corduroys, that the apple was 
unpleasantly warm.” 

“I remember,” said Mr. Allen, gloomily. “Upon which we 
ate it ourselves, in alternate bites.” 

Bob Sawyer intimated his recollection of the circumstance 
last alluded to, by a melancholy frown ; and the two friends 
remained for some time absorbed, each in his own meditations. 

While these observations were being exchanged between Mr. 
Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen, and while the boy in grey 
livery, marvelling at the unwonted prolongation of the dinner 
cast an anxious look from time to time towards the glass door, 
distracted by inward misgivings regarding the amount of minced 
veal which would be ultimately reserved for his individual 
cravings, there rolled soberly on through the streets of Bristol, 
a private fly, painted of a sad green color, drawn by a chubby 
sort of brown horse, and driven by a surly looking man with 
his legs dressed like the legs of a groom, and his body attired 
in the coat of a coachman. Such appearances are common to 
many vehicles belonging to, and maintained by, old ladies of 
economical habits ; and in this vehicle there sat an old lady 
who was its mistress and proprietor. 

“Martin 1” said the old lady, calling to the surly man out of 
the front window. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. Ul 

‘‘Well?” said the surly man, touching his hat to the old 
lady. 

“ Mr. Sawyer’s,” said the old lady. 

“ I was going there,” said the surly man. 

The old lady nodded the satisfaction which this proof of the 
surly man’s foresight imparted to her feelings ; and the surly 
man giving a smart lash to the chubby horse, they all repaired 
to Mr. Bob Sawyer’s together. 

“ Martin I” said the old lady, when the fly stopped at the 
door of Mr. Bob Sawyer, late Nockemorf. 

“ Well ?” said Martin. 

“ Ask the lad to step out and mind the horse ” 

“ I’m going to mind the horse myself,” said Martin, laying 
his whip on the roof of the fly. 

“ I can’t permit it on any account,” said the old lady ; “ your 
testimony will be very important, and I must take you into the 
house with me. You must not stir from my side during the 
whole interview. Do you hear ?” 

“I hear,” replied Martin. 

“Well ; what are you stopping for ?” 

“Nothing,” replied Martin. So saying, the surly man 
leisurely descended from the wheel upon which he had been 
poising himself on the tops of the toes of his right foot, and 
having summoned the boy in the grey livery, opened the coach 
door, flung down the steps, and thrusting in a hand enveloped 
in a dark wash-leather glove, pulled out the old lady with as 
much unconcern in his manner as if she were a bandbox. 

“ Dear me,” exclaimed the old lady, “ I am so flurried now 
I have got here, Martin, that I’m all in a tremble.” 

Mr. Martin coughed behind the dark wash-leather glove, but 
expressed no further sympathy ; so the old lady composing, 
herself, trotted up Mr. Bob Sawyer’s steps, and Mr. Martin 
followed. Immediately upon the old lady’s entering the shop, 
Mr. Benjamin Allen* and Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been 
putting the spirits and water out of sight, and upsetting nau- 
seous drugs to take off the smell of the tobacco-smoke, issued 
hastily forth in a transport of pleasure and affection. 

“ My dear aunt,” exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen, “how kind of 
you to look in upon us. Mr. Sawyer, aunt j my friend Mr. 


742 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Bob Sawyer that I have spoken to you about, regarding — yon 
know, aunt.” And here Mr. Ben Allen, who was not at the 
moment extraordinarily sober, added the word “ Arabella,” in 
what was meant to be a whisper, but which was in fact an 
especially audible and distinct tone of speech, which nobody 
could avoid hearing, if anybody was so disposed. 

“ My dear Benjamin,” said the old lady, struggling with a 
great shortness of breath, and trembling from head to foot — 
don’t be alarmed, my dear, but I think I had better speak to 
Mr. Sawyer alone for a moment — only for one moment.” 

“Bob,” said Mr. Ben Allen, “ will you take my aunt into the 
surgery ?” 

“Certainly,” responded Bob, in a most professional voice. 
“ Step this way, my dear Ma’am. Don’t be frightened. Ma’am. 
We shall be able to set you to rights in a very short time, I 
have no doubt. Ma’am. Here, my dear Ma’am. Now then.” 
With this Mr. Bob Sawyer having handed the old lady to a 
chair, shut the door, drew another chair close to her, and waited 
to hear detailed the symptoms of some disorder from which he 
saw in perspective a long train of profits and advantages. 

The first thing the old lady did, was to shake her head a 
great many times, and begin to cry. 

“Nervous,” said Bob Sawyer, complacently. “Camphor- 
julep and water three times a day, and composing draught at 
night.” 

“I don’t know how to begin, Mr. Sawyer,” said the old lady. 
“It is so very painful and distressing.” 

“You need not begin. Ma’am,” rejoined Mr. Bob Sawyer. 
“I can anticipate all you would say. The head is in fault.” 

“ I should be very sorry to think it was the heart,” said the 
old lady, with a slight groan. 

“ Not the slightest danger of that. Ma’am,” replied Bob 
Sawyer. “ The stomach is the primary cause.” 

“ Mr. Sawyer,” exclaimed the old lady, starting. 

“ Not the least doubt of it. Ma’am,” rejoined Bob, looking 
wondrous wise. “ Medicine, in time, my dear Ma’am, would 
have prevented it all.” 

“ Mr. Sawyer,” said the old lady, more flurried than before, 
“ tiiis conduct is either great impertinence to one in my situa- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


74S 


tion, Sir, or it arises from your not understanding the object of 
my visit. If it had been in the power of medicine or any fore- 
sight I could have used to prevent what has occurred, I should 
certainly have done so. I had better see my nephew at once,” 
said the old lady, twirling her reticule indignantly, and rising 
as she spoke. 

“ Stop a moment, Ma^am,” said Bob Sawyer; “I am afraid 
I have not understood you. What is the matter, Ma’am ?” 

“ My niece, Mr. Sawyer,” said the old lady — “your friend’s 
sister.” 

“ Yes, Ma’am,” said Bob, all impatience ; for the old lady, 
although much agitated, spoke with the most tantalising delibe- 
ration, as old ladies often do. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

“ Left my home, Mr. Sawyer, three days ago, on a pretended 
visit to my sister, another aunt of hers, who keeps a large 
boarding school, just beyond the third mile-stone, where there 
is a large laburnum tree and an oak gate,” said the old lady, 
stopping in this place to dry her eyes. 

“ Oh, devil take the laburnum tree I Ma’am,” said Bob, quite 
forgetting his professional dignity in his anxiety. “Get on a 
little faster; put a little more steam on. Ma’am, pray.” 

“ This morning,” said the old lady, slowly, “ this morning, 
she ” 

“ She came back. Ma’am, I suppose,” said Bob with great 
animation. “ Did she come back ?” 

“ No, she did not — she wrote,” replied the old lady. 

“ What did she say ?” inquired Bob, eagerly. 

“She said, Mr. Sawyer,” replied the old lady — “and it is 
this I want you to prepare Benjamin’s mind for, gently and by 
degrees ; she said that she was — I have got the letter in my 
pocket, Mr. Sawyer, but my glasses are in the carriage, and I 
should only waste the time if I attempted to point out the pas- 
sage to you, without them ; she said, in short, Mr. Sawyer, 
that she was married. ” 

“ What I” said, or rather shouted, Mr. Bob Sawyer. 

“ Married,” repeated the old lady. 

Mr. Bob Sawyer stopped to hear no more ; but darting from 
the surgery into the outer shop, cried in a stentorian voice, 
“ Ben, my boy, she’s bolted I” 


744 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Mr. Ben Allen, who had been slumbering behind the counter 
with his head half a foot or so below his knees, no sooner heard 
this appalling communication, than he made a precipitate rush 
at Mr. Martin, and twisting his hand in the neckcloth of that 
taciturn servitor, expressed an obliging intention of choking him 
where he stood, which intention, with a promptitude often the 
effect of desperation he at once commenced carrying into 
execution with much vigor and surgical skill. 

Mr. Martin, who was a man of few words, and possessed but 
little power of eloquence or persuasion, submitted to this ope- 
ration with a very calm and agreeable expression of countenance, 
for some seconds ; finding, however, that it threatened speedily 
to lead to a result which would place it beyond his power to 
claim any wages, board or otherwise, in all times to come, he 
muttered an inarticulate remonstrance, and felled Mr. Benjamin 
Allen to the ground. As that gentleman had got his hands 
entangled in his cravat, he had no alternative but to follow him 
to the floor. There they both lay struggling, when the shop 
door opened, and the party was increased by the arrival of two 
most unexpected visitors, to wit, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Samuel 
Weller. 

The impression at once produced on Mr. Weller’s mind by 
what he saw, was, that Mr. Martin was hired by the establish- 
ment of Sawyer, late Nockemorf, to take strong medicine, or 
to go into fits and be experimentalised upon, or to swallow 
poison now and then with the view of testing the efficacy of 
some new antidotes, or to do something or other to promote 
the great science of medicine, and gratify the ardent spirit of 
inquiry burning in the bosoms of its two young professors. So, 
without presuming to interfere, Sam stood perfectly still, and 
looked on as if he were mightily interested in the result of the 
then pending experiment. Not so, Mr. Pickwick. He at 
once threw himself upon the astonished combatants with his 
accustomed energy, and loudly called upon the by-standers to 
interpose. 

This roused Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been hitherto quite 
paralysed by the frenzy of his companion ; and with that gen- 
tleman’s assistance, Mr. Pickwick raised Ben Allen to his feet. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


745 


Mr. Martin finding himself alone on the floor, got up and 
looked about him. 

“ Mr. Allen,” said Mr. Pick^vick, “ what is the matter, Sir ?” 

“ Never mind, Sir,” replied Mr. Allen, with haughty defiance. 

“What is it?” enquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at Bob 
Sawyer. “ Is he unwell ?” 

Before Bob could reply, Mr. Ben Allen seized Mr. Pickwick 
by the hand, and murmured, in sorrowful accents, “ My sister, 
my dear Sir ; my sister. ” 

“Oh, is that all I” said Mr. Pickwick. “We shall easily 
arrange that matter, I hope. Your sister is safe and well, and 
I am here, ray dear Sir, to ” 

“ Sorry to do anythin’ as may cause an interruption to such 
wcry pleasant proceedin’s, as the king said when he dissolved 
the parliament,” interposed Mr. Weller, who had been peeping 
through the glass door ; “ but there’s another experiment here. 
Sir. Here’s a wenerable old lady a lyin’ on the carpet vaitin’ 
fo* dissection, or galwinism, or some other rewivin’ and scientific 
inwention.” 

“I forgot,” exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen. “It is my aunt.” 

“ Dear me,” said Mr. Pickwick. “ Poor lady I gently Sam, 
gently.” 

“ Strange sitivation for one o’ the family,” observed Sam 
Weller, hoisting the aunt into a chair. “Now, depitty Saw- 
bones, bring out the wollatilly.” 

The latter observation was addressed to the boy in grey, 
who, having handed over the fly to the care of the street-keeper, 
had come back to see what all the noise was about. Between 
the boy in grey, and Mr. Bob Sawyer, and Mr. Benjamin Allen 
(who having frightened his aunt into a fainting fit, was affection- 
ately solicitous for her recovery) the old lady was at length 
restored to consciousness ; and then Mr. Ben Allen, turning 
with a puzzled countenance to Mr. Pickwick, asked him what 
he was about to say when he had been so alarmingly interrupted 

“We are all friends here, I presume?” said Mr. Pickwick 
clearing his voice, and looking towards the man of few words 
Hath the surly countenance, who drove the fly with the chubby 
horse. 

This reminded Mr. Bob Sawyer that the boy in grey waa 


Tie THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

looking on, with eyes wide open and greedy ears. The incipient 
chemist having been lifted up by his coat collar and dropped 
outside the door, Bob Sawyer assured Mr. Pickwick that he 
might speak without reserve. 

“Your sister, my dear Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, turning to 
Benjamin Allen, “ is in London ; well and happy.” 

“ Her happiness is no object to me, Sir,” said Mr. Benjamin 
Allen, with a flourish of the hand. 

“ Her husband is an object to me, Sir,” said Bob Sawyer. 
“ He shall be an object to me. Sir, at twelve paces, and a very 
pretty object I’ll make of him. Sir — a mean-spirited scoundrel 1” 
This, as it stood, was a very pretty denunoiation, and magnani- 
mous withal ; but Mr. Bob Sawyer rather weakened its effect, 
by winding up with some general observations concerning the 
punching of heads and knocking out of eyes, which were com- 
monplace by comparison. 

“ Stay, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick ; “ before you apply those 
epithets to the gentleman in question, consider dispassionately 
the extent of his fault, and above all remember that he is a 
friend of mine.” 

“ What I” said Mr. Bob Sawyer. 

“ His name,” cried Ben Allen. “ His name.” 

“ Mr. Nathanial Winkle,” said Mr. Pickwick, firmly. 

Mr. Benjamin Allen deliberately crushed his spectacles 
beneath the heel of his boot, and having picked up the pieces 
and put them into three separate pockets, folded his arras, bit 
his lips, and looked in a threatening manner at the bland 
features of Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Then it’s you, is it. Sir, who have encouraged and brought 
about this match ?” inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, at length, 

“And it’s this gentleman’s servant, I suppose,” interrupted 
the old lady, “ who has been skulking about ray house, and en- 
deavoring to entrap my servants to conspire against their mis 
tress. Martin !” 

“ Well ?” said the surly man, coming forward. 

“ Is that the young man you saw in the lane, whom you told 
me about this morning ?” 

Mr. Martin, who, as it has already appeared, was a man of 
few words, looked at Sam Weller nodded his head, and growled 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


747 


forth, “That’s the man.” Mr. Weller, who was never prond, 
gave a smile of friendly recognition as his eyes encountered those 
of the surly groom, and admitted in courteous terms, that he had 
“ knowed him afore.” 

“ And this is the faithful creature,” exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen, 
“ that I had nearly suffocated ! Mr. Pickwick, how dare you 
allow your fellow to be employed in the abduction of my sister ? 
I demand that you explain this matter. Sir.” 

“ Explain it. Sir I” cried Bob Sawyer, fiercely. 

“ It’s a conspiracy,” said Ben Allen. 

“ A regular plant,” added Bob Sawyer. 

“ A disgraceful imposition,” observed the old lady. 

“ Nothing but a do,” remarked Martin. 

“ Pray hear me,” urged Mr. Pickwick, as Mr. Ben Allen fell 
into a chair that patients were bled in, and gave way to his 
pocket-handkerchief. “ I have rendered no assistance in this 
matter, beyond that of being present at one interview between 
the young people, which I could not prevent, and from which I 
conceived my presence would remove any slight coloring of im- 
propriety that it might otherwise have had : this is the whole 
share I have taken in the transaction, and I had no suspicion 
that an immediate marriage was even contemplated. Though, 
mind,” added Mr; Pickwick, hastily checking himself, “mind, 1 
do not say I should have prevented it, if I had known that it 
was intended.” 

“You hear that, all of you ; you hear that ?” said Mr. Ben- 
jamin Allen. 

“ I hope they do,” mildly observed Mr. Pickwick, looking 
round ; “ and,” added that gentleman, his color mounting as he 
spoke, “ I hope they hear this. Sir, also, — ^that from what has 
been stated to me. Sir, I assert that you were by no means 
justified in attempting to force your sister’s inclinations as you 
did, and that you should rather have endeavored by your kind- 
ness and forbearance to have supplied the place of other nearer 
relations whom she has never known from a child. As regards 
my young friend, I must beg to add, that in every point of 
worldly advantage, he is at least on an equal footing with 
yourself, if not on a much better one, and that unless I hear 


748 


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this question discussed with becoming temper and moderation, 
I decline hearing anj more said upon the subject.” 

I vish to make a wery few remarks in addition to wot has 
been put forard by the honorable geii’lm’n as* has just given 
over,” said Mr. Weller, stepping forth, “vich is this here: a 
indivvidual in company has called me a feller.” 

“ That has nothing whatevei to do with the matter, Sam,” 
interposed Mr. Pickwick. “ Pray hold your tongue.” 

“ I ain’t a goin’ to say nothin’ on that ere pint. Sir,” replied 
Sam, “ but merely this here. P’raps that gen’lm’n may think 
as there vos a priory ‘tachment, but there vorn’t nothin’ o’ the 
sort, for the young lady said in the wery beginnin’ o’ the 
keepiii’ company that she couldn’t abide him. Nobody’s cut 
him out, and it ’ud ha’ been just the wery same for him if the 
young lady had never seen Mr. Vinkle. That’s wot I vished 
to say. Sir, and I hope I’ve now made that ’ere gen’lm’n’s mind 
easy.” 

A short pause followed these consolatory remarks of Mr. 
Weller, and then Mr. Ben Allen rising from his chair, pro- 
tested that he would never see Arabella’s face again, while Mr. 
Bob Sawyer, despite Sam’s flattering assurance, vowed dreadful 
vengeance on the happy bridegroom. 

But, just when matters were at their height and threatening 
to remain so, Mr. Pickwick found a powerful assistant in the 
old lady, who, evidently much struck by the mode in which he 
had advocated her niece’s cause, ventured to approach Mr. 
Benjamin Allen with a few comforting reflections, of which the 
chief were, that after all, perhaps, it was well it was no worse ; 
the least said the soonest mended, and upon her word she did 
not know that it was so very bad after all ; that what was over 
couldn’t be begun, and what couldn’t be cured must be endured, 
with various other assurances of the like novel and strengthen- 
ing description. To all of which, Mr. Benjamin Allen replied 
that he meant no disrespect to his aunt or anybody there, but 
if it were all the same to them, and they would allow him to 
have his own way, he would rather have the pleasure of hating 
his sister till death and after it. 

At length when this determination had been announced half 
a hundred times, the old lady suddenly bridling up and looking 


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74 .* 


very majestic, wished to know what she had done that no 
respect was to be paid to her years or station, and that she 
should be obliged to beg and pray in that way of her own 
nephew, whon* she remembered about five-and-twenty years 
before he was born, and whom she had known personally when 
he hadn’t a tooth in his head; to say nothing of her presence 
on the first occasion of his having his hair cut, and assistance 
at numerous other times and ceremonies during his babyhood, 
of sufiicient importance to found a claim upon his affection, 
obedience, and sympathies, for ever. 

While the good lady was bestowing this objurgation on Mr. 
Ben Allen, Bob Sawyer and Mr. Pickwick had retired in close 
conversation to the inner room, where the former gentleman 
was observed to apply himself several times to the mouth of a 
black bottle, under the influence of which, his features gradually 
assumed a cheerful and even jovial e.xpression. And at last he 
emerged from the room, bottle in hand, and remarking that he 
was very sorry to say he had been making a fool of himself, 
begged to propose the health and happiness of Mr. and Mrs. 
Winkle, whose felicity, so far from envying, he would be the 
first to congratulate them upon. Hearing this, Mr. Ben Allen 
suddenly arose from his chair, and seizing the black bottle drank 
the toast so heartily, that, the liquor being strqng, he became 
nearly as black in the face as the bottle itself. Finally the 
black bottle went round till it was empty, and there was so 
much shaking of hands and interchanging of compliments, that 
the metal-visaged Mr. Martin condescended to smile. 

“And now,” said Bob Sawyer, rubbing his hands, “we’ll 
have a jolly night.” 

“I am sorry,” said Mr. Pickwick, “that I must return to 
my inn. I have not been accustomed to fatigue lately, and my 
journey has tired me exceedingly.” 

“ You’ll take some tea, Mr. Pickwick ?” said the old lady, 
with irresistible sweetness. 

“ Thank you, I would rather not,” replied that gentleman. 
The truth is, that the old lady’s evidently increasing admiration 
was Mr. Pickwick’s principal inducement for going. He 
thought of Mrs. Bardell; and every glance of the old lady’s 
eyes threw him into a cold perspiration. 


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As Mr. Pickwick could by no means be prevailed upon to 
stay, it was arranged at once, on his own proposition, that Mr. 
Benjamin Allen should accompany him on his journey to the 
elder Mr. Winkle’s, and that the coach should*»be at the door 
at nine o’clock next morning. He then took his leave, and, 
followed by Samuel Weller, repaired to the Bush. It is worthy 
of remark, that Mr. Martin’s face was horribly convulsed as ho 
shook hands with Sam at parting, and that he gave vent to a 
smile and an oath simultaneously, from which tokens it has been 
inferred by those who were best acquainted with that gentle- 
man’s peculiarities that he expressed himself much pleased with 
Mr. Weller’s society, and requested the honor of his further 
acquaintance. 

“ Shall I order a private room. Sir ?” inquired Sam, when 
they reached the Bush. 

“Why, no, Sam,” replied Mr. Pickwick ; “as I dined in the 
coffee-room, and shall go to bed soon, it is hardly worth while. 
See who there is in the traveler’s room, Sam.” 

Mr. Weller departed on his errand, and presently returned 
to say that there was only a gentleman with one eye, and the 
landlord, who were drinking a bowl of bishop together. 

“ I will join them,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ He’s a queer customer, the vun-eyed vun. Sir,” observed 
Mr Weller, as he led the way. “ He’s a gammonin’ that ’ere 
landlord, he is. Sir, till he don’t rightly know vether he’s stand- 
ing on the soles of his boots or the crown of his hat.” 

The individual to whom this observation referred, was sitting 
at the upper end of the room when Mr. Pickwick entered, and 
was smoking a large Dutch pipe, with his eye intently fixed 
upon the round face of the landlord, a jolly looking old per- 
sonage, to whom he had recently been relating some tale of 
wonder, as was testified by sundry disjointed exclamations of, 
“ Well, I wouldn’t have believed it 1 The strangest thing I 
ever heard I Couldn’t have supposed it possible 1” and other 
expressions of astonishment which burst spontaneously from 
his lips as he returned the fixed gaze of the one-eyed man. 

“ Servant, Sir,” said tp.e one-eyed man to Mr. Pickwick. 
“ Fine night. Sir.” 

“ Verv much so indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick, as the waiter 


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761 


placed a small decanter of brandy, and some hot water before 
him. 

While Mr. Pickwick was mixing his brandy and water, the 
one-eyed man looked round at him earnestly, from time to time, 
and at length said — 

I think I’ve seen you before.” 

“ I don’t recollect you,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 

** I dare say not,” said the one-eyed man. “ You didn’t know 
me, but I knew two friends of yours that wer^ stopping at the 
Peacock at Eatanswill, at the time of the Election.” 

“ Oh, indeed 1” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 

“Yes,” rejoined the one-eyed man. “I mentioned a little 
circumstance to them about a friend of mine of the name of Tom 
Smart. Perhaps you’ve heard them speak of it.” 

“ Often,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling. ‘‘ He was your 
uncle, I think?” 

“ No, no — only a friend of my uncle’s,” replied the one-eyed 
man. 

“He was a wonderful man, that uncle of yours, though,” 
remarked the landlord, shaking his head. 

“ Well, I think he was; I think I may say he was,” answered 
the one-eyed man. “ I could tell you a story about that same 
uncle, gentlemen, that would rather surprise you.” 

“ Could you,” said Mr. Pickwick. “ Let us hear it by all 
means.” 

The one-eyed bagman ladled out a glass of negus from tlie 
bowl, and drank it, smoked a long whiflf out of the Hutch pipe, 
and then calling to Sam Weller who was lingering near thy 
door, that he needn’t go away unless he wanted to, because the 
Blory was no secret, fixed his eye upon the landlord’s, and pro 
ceeded in the words of the next chapter. 


48 


CHAPTER L. 


CONTAINING THE STORY OP THE BAGMAN ’S UNCLE. 

“ My uncle, gentlemen,” said the bagman, “ was one of the 
merriest, pleasantest, cleverest fellows that ever lived. I wish 
you had known him, gentlemen. On second tlionghts, gentle- 
men, I donH wish you had known him, for if you had, you 
would have beeu all by this time in the ordinary course of 
nature, if not dead, at all events so near it, as to have taken to 
stopping at home and giving up company, which would have 
deprived me of the inestimable pleasure of addressing you at 
this moment. Gentlemen, I wish your fathers and mothers had 
known my uncle. They would have been amazingly fond of 
him, especially your respectable mothers, I know tlmy would. 
If any two of his numerous virtues predominated over the 
many that adorned his character, I should say they were his 
mixed punch and his after-supper song. Excuse my dwelling* 
upon these melancholy recollections of departed worth ; yov 
won’t see a man like my uncle every day in the week. 

“ I have always considered it a great point in my uncleV 
character, gentlemen, that he was the intimate friend and com- 
panion of Tom Smart, of the great house of Bilson and Slum, 
Cateaton Street, City. My uncle collected for Tiggin and 
Whelps, but for a long time he went pretty near the same 
journey as Tom ; and the very first night they met, my uncle 
took a fancy for Tom, and Tom took a fancy for my uncle. 
They made a bet of a new hat before they had known each 
other half an hour, who should brew the best quart of puncli 
and drink it the quickest. My uncle was judged to have won 
the making, but Tom Smart beat him in the drinking by about 
half a salt-spoonful. They took another quart a-piece to drink 
each other’s health in, and were staunch friends ever after- 
wards. There’s a destiny in these things, gentlemen ; we can’t 
help it. 

( 152 ) 


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768 


In personal appearance, my uncle was a trifle shorter than 
the middle size ; he was a thought stouter too, than the ordi- 
nary run of people, and perhaps his face might be a shade 
redder. He had the jolliest face you ever saw, gentlemen: 
something like Punch, with a handsomer nose and chin ; his 
eyes were always twinkling and sparkling with good humor, 
and a smile — not one of your unmeaning wooden grins, but a 
real, merry, hearty, good-tempered smile, was perpetually on 
his countenance. He was pitched out of his gig once, and 
knocked head first against a mile-stone. There he lay, stunned, 
and so cut about the face with some gravel which had been 
heaped up alongside it, that, to use my uncle’s own strong 
expression, if his mother could have revisited the earth, she 
wouldn’t have kyown him. Indeed, when I come to think of 
the matter, gentlemen, I feel pretty sure she wouldn’t, for she 
died when my uncle was two years and seven months old, and 
I think it’s very likely that even without the gravel, his top- 
boots would have puzzled the good lady not a little, to say 
nothing of his jolly red face. However, there he lay, and I have 
heard my uncle say many a time that the man said who picked 
him up, that he was smiling as merrily as if he had tumbled 
out for a treat, and that after they had bled him, the first faint 
glimmerings of returning animation were, his jumping up in 
bed, bursting out into a loud laugh, kissing the young woman 
who held the basin, and demanding a mutton chop and a 
pickled walnut instantly. He was very fond of pickled wal- 
nuts, gentlemen. He said he always found that, taken without 
vinegar, they relished the beer. 

“ My uncle’s great journey was in the fall of the leaf, at which 
time he collected debts and took orders in the north : going 
from London to Edinburgh, from Edinburgh to Glasgow, from 
Glasgow back to Edinburgh, and thence to London by the 
smack. You are t(» understand that this second visit to Edin- 
burgh was for his own pleasure. He used to go back for a 
week, just to look up his old friends ; and what with breakfasting 
with this one, and lunching with that, and dining with a third, 
and supping with another, a pretty tight week he used to make 
of it I don’t know whether any of you, gentlemen, ever par- 
took of a real, substantial, hospitable Scotch breakfast, and 


754 


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then went out to a slight lunch of a bushel of oysters, a dozen 
or so of bottled ale, and a noggin or two of whiskey to close up 
with. If you ever did, you will agree with me that it requires 
a pretty strong head to go out to dinner and supper after- 
wards. 

“ But, bless your heart and eyebrows, all this sort of thing 
was nothing to my uncle. He was so well seasoned that it was 
mere child’s play. I have heard him say that he could see the 
Dundee people out any day, and walk home afterwards without 
staggering ; and yet the Dundee people have as strong heads 
and as strong punch, gentlemen, as you are likely to meet with 
between the poles. I have heard of a Glasgow man and a 
Dundee man drinking against each other for fifteen hours at a 
sitting. They were both suffocated as nearly as could be ascer- 
tained at the same moment, but with this trifling exception, 
gentleman, they were not a bit the worse for it. 

“ One night, within four-and-twenty hours of the time when 
he had settled to take shipping for London, my uncle supped 
at the house of a very old friend of his, a Baillie Mac something, 
and four syllables after it, who lived in the old town of Edin- 
burgh. There were the baillie’s wife, and the baillie’s three 
daughters, and the baillie’s grown-up son, and three or four 
stout, bushy-eye browed, canty old Scotch fellows that the 
baillie had got together to do honor to my uncle, and help to 
make merry. It was a glorious supper. There was kippered 
salmon, and Finnan haddocks, and a lamb’s head, and a haggis ; 
a celebrated Scotch dish, gentlemen, which my uncle used to 
say always looked to him, when it came to table, very much 
like a eupid’s stomach ; and a great many other things besides, 
that I forget the names of, but very good things notwithstanding. 
The lassies were pretty and agreeable ; the baillie’s wife one of 
the best creatures that ever lived ; and my uncle in thoroughly 
good cue : the consequence of which was, that the young ladies 
tittered and giggled, and the old lady laughed out loud, and 
the baillie and the other old fellows roared till they were red 
in the face, the whole mortal time. I don’t quite recollect how 
many tumblers of whiskey toddy each man drank after supper, 
but this I do know, that about one o’clock in the morning, the 
baillie’s grown-up son became insensible while attempting the 


755 


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first verse of ‘ Willie brewed a peck maut and he having 
been, for half an hour before, the only man visible above the 
mahogany, it occurred to my uncle that it was almost time to 
think about going, especially as drinking had set in at seven 
o’clock in order that he might get home at a decent hour. But 
thinking it might not be quite polite to go just then, my uncle 
voted himself into the chair, mixed another glass, rose to pro* 
pose his own health, addressed himself in a neat and compli* 
mentary speech, and drank the toast with great enthusiasm. 
Still nobody woke ; so my uncle took a little drop more — neat 
this time, to prevent the toddy disagreeing with him, and laying 
violent hands on his hat sallied forth into the street. 

“ It was a wild gusty night when my uncle closed the baillie’s 
door ; and setting his hat firmly on his head to prevent the wind 
from taking it, thrust his hands into his pockets, and looking 
upwards, took a short survey of the state of the weather. The 
clouds were drifting over the moon at their giddiest speed, at 
one time wholly obscuring her, at another, suffering her to burst 
fortli in full splendor and shed her light on all the objects around ; 
anon, driving over her again with increased velocity, and shroud- 
ing everything in darkness. ‘ Beally, this won’t do,’ said my 
uncle, addressing himself to the w^eather, as, if he felt himself 
personally offended. ‘ This is not at all the kind of thing 
for my voyage. It will not do at any price,’ said my uncle, 
very impressively. And having repeated this several times, he 
recovered his balance wMth some difficulty — for he was rather 
giddy wdth looking up into the sky so long — and walked mer- 
rily on. * 

“ The baillie’s house was in Canongate, and my uncle was 
going to the other end of Leith Walk, rather better than a 
mile’s journey. On either side of him there shot up against the 
dark sky, tall, gaunt, straggling houses, with time-stained fronts, 
and wdndow's that seemed to have shared the lot of eyes in 
mortals, and to have grown dim and sunken with age. Six, 
seven, eight stories high were the houses ; story piled above 
story, as children build their cards — throwing their dark shadows 
over the roughly paved road, and making the night darker. A 
few^ oil lamps were scattered, at long distances, but they only 
served to mark the dirty entrance to some narrow close, or to show 


766 


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where a common stair communicated, by steep and intricate 
windings, with the various flats above. Glancing at all these 
things with the air of a man who had seen them too often before, 
to think them worthy of much notice now, my uncle walked up 
the middle of the street with a thumb in each waistcoat pocket, 
indulging from time to time in various snatches of song, chaunted 
forth with such good will and spirit, that the quiet honest folks 
started from their first sleep and lay trembling in bed till the 
sound died away in the distance ; when satisfying themselves 
that it was only some drunken ne’er-do-well finding his way 
home, they covered themselves up warm -and fell asleep again. 

“ I am particular in describing how my uncle walked up the 
middle of the street with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, 
gentlemen, because, as he often used to say (and with great 
reason too) there is nothing at all extraordinary in this story, 
unless you distinctly understand at the beginning, that he was 
not by any means of a marvellous or romantic turn. 

“ Gentlemen, my uncle walked on with his thumbs in his waist- 
coat pockets, taking the middle of the street to himself, and 
singing now a verse of a love song, and then a verse of a drink 
ing one ; and when he was tired of both, whistling melodiously, 
until he reached the North Bridge, which at this point connects 
the old and new towns of Edinburgh. Here he stopped for a 
minute to look at the strange irregular clusters of lights piled 
one above the other, and twinkling afar ofi* so high in the air 
that they looked like stars gleaming from the castle walls on 
the one side and the Calton Hill on the other, as if they illu- 
minated veritable* castles in the air, while the old picturesque 
town slept heavily on in gloom and darkness below ; its palace 
and chapel of Holyrood, guarded day and night, as a friend of 
my uncle’s used to say, by old Arthur’s Seat, towering, surly 
and dark, like some gruff genius, over the ancient city he has 
watched so long. I say, gentlemen, my uncle stopped here for 
a minute to look about him ; and then, paying a compliment 
to the weather, which had a little cleared up, though the moon 
was sinking, walked on again as royally as before, keeping the 
middle of the road with great dignity, and looking as if he 
should very much like to meet with somebody who would dis- 
pute possession of it with him. There was nobody at all dis- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


757 


posed to contest the point, as it happened ; and so on he went, 
with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, as peaceable as a 
lamb. 

“When my uncle reached the end of Leith Walk, he had to 
cross a pretty large piece of waste ground which separated 
him from a short street which he had to turn down to go direct 
to his lodging. Now in this piece of waste ground there was 
at that time an inclosure belonging to some wheelwright, who 
contracted with the Post-office for the purchase of old worn-out 
mail coaches ; and my uncle being very fond of coaches, old, 
young, or middle-aged, all at once took it into his head to step 
out of his road for no other purpose than to peep between the 
palings at these mails, about a dozen of which he remembered 
to have seen, crowded together in a very forlorn and dismantled 
state, inside. My uncle was a very enthusiastic, emphatic sort 
of person, gentlemen ; so, finding that he could not obtain a 
good peep between the palings, he got over them, and setting 
himself quietly down on an old axletree, began to contemplate 
the mail coaches with a great deal of gravity. 

“ There might be a dozen of them, or there might be more — 
my uncle was never quite certain upon this point, and being a 
man of very scrupulous veracity about numbers, didn’t like to 
gay — but there they stood, all huddled together in the most 
desolate condition imaginable. The doors had been torn from 
their hinges and removed, the linings had been stripped off, only 
a shred hanging here and there by a rusty nail ; the lamps were 
gone, the poles had long since vanished, the iron-work was 
rusty, the paint worn away; the wind whistled through the 
chinks in the bare wood-work, and the rain, which had collected 
on the roofs, fell drop by drop into the insides with a hollow 
and melancholy sound. They were the decaying skeletons of 
departed mails, and in that lonely place, at that time of night, 
they looked chill and dismal. 

“ My uncle rested his head upon his hands, and thought of the 
busy bustling people who had rattled about, years before, in the 
old coaches, and were now as silent and changed ; he thought 
of the numbers of people to whom one of those crazy, moulder 
ing vehicles had borne, night after night for many years, and 
through all weathers, the anxiously expected intelligence, the 


758 


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eagerly looked-for remittance, the promised assurance of health 
and safety, the sudden announcement of sickness and death. 
The merchant, the lover, the wife, the widow, the mother, the 
schoolboy, the very child who tottered to the door at the post- 
man’s knock — how had they all looked forward to the arrival 
of the old coach. And where were they all now ? 

“ Gentlemen, my uncle used to say that he thought all this at 
the time, but I rather suspect he learnt it out of some book 
afterwards, for he distinctly stated that he fell into a kind of 
doze as he sat on the old axletree looking at the decayed mail 
coaches, and that he was suddenly awakened by some deep 
church-bell striking two. Now, my uncle was never a fast 
thinker, and if he had thought all these things, I am quite cer- 
tain it would have taken him till full half-past two o’clock at 
the very least. I am, therefore, decidedly of opinion, gentle- 
men, that my uncle fell into the kind of doze without having 
thought about any thing at all. 

“Be this as it may, a church bell struck two. My uncle 
woke, rubbed his eyes, and jumped up in astonishment. 

“ In one instant, after the clock struck two, the whole of this 
deserted and quiet spot had become a scene of the most extra- 
ordinary life and animation. The mail coach doors were on 
their hinges, the lining was replaced, the iron-work was as good 
as new, the paint was restored, the lamps were alight ; cushions 
and great coats were on every coach box, porters were thrusting 
parcels into every boot, guards were stowing away letter-bags, 
hostlers were dashing pails of water against the renovated 
wheels ; numbeS of men were rushing about, fixing poles into 
every coach, passengers arrived, portmanteaus were handed up, 
horses were put to, and in short it was perfectly clear that every 
mail there was to be off directly. Gentlemen, my uncle opened 
his eyes so wide at all this, that, to the very last moment of his 
life, he used to wonder how it fell out that he had ever been 
a))le to shut ’em again. 

“‘Now then,’ said a voice, as my uncle felt a hand on his 
shoulder, 'You’re booked for one inside. You’d better get 
iu.’ 

‘ / booked 1’ said my uncle, turning round. 

“ * Yes, certainly.’ 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


769 


uncle, gentlemen, conld say nothing, he was so very 
much astonished. The queerest thing of all was, that although 
there was such a crowd of persons, and although fresh faces 
were pouring in, every moment, there was no telling where they 
came from ; they seemed to start up in some strange manner 
from the ground or the air, and to disappear in the same way. 
When a porter had put his luggage in the coach and received 
his fare, he turned round and was gone ; and before my uncle 
had wcll^ begun to wonder what had become of him, half-a- 
dozen fresh ones started up, and staggered along under the 
weight of parcels which seemed big enough to crush them. 
The passengers were all dressed so oddly, too, — large, broad- 
skirted laced coats with great cuffs and no collars ; and wigs, 
gentlemen, — great formal wigs — with a tie behind. My uncle 
could make nothing of it. 

“ * Now, are you going to get in said the person who had 
addressed my uncle before. He was dressed as a mail guard, 
with a wig on his head and most enormous cuffs to his coat, 
and had got a lantern in one hand and a huge blunderbuss in 
the other, which he was going to stow away in his little arm- 
chest. * Are you going to get in, Jack Martin?’ said the 
guard, holding the lantern to my uncle’s face. 

‘ Hallo,’ said my uncle, falling back a step or two. ‘That’s 
familiar ?’ 

“ ‘It’s so on the way-bill,’ replied the guard. 

“ ‘ Isn’t there a ‘ Mister’ before it ?’ said my uncle — for he 
felt, gentlemen, that for a guard he didn’t know to call him 
Jack Martin, was a liberty which the post-office wouldn’t have 
sanctioned if they had known it. 

“ ‘ No ; there is not,’ rejoined the guard, coolly. 

“ ‘ Is the fare paid V inquired my uncle. 

‘‘ ‘ Of course it is,’ rejoined the guard. 

“ ‘ It is, is it ?’ said my uncle. ‘ Then here goes-^which 
coach ?’ 

“ ‘ This,’ said the guard, pointing to an old-fashioned Edin- 
burgh and London Mail, which had got the steps down, and 
the door open. ‘ Stop — ^here are the other passengers. Let 
them get in first.’ 

“ As the guard spoke, there all at once appeared, right ic 


760 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


front of my uncle, a young gentleman in a powdered wig and 
a sky blue coat trimmed with silver, made very full and broad 
in the skirts, which were lined with buckram. Tiggins and 
Welps were in the printed calico and waistcoat piece line, gen- 
tlemen, so my uncle knew all the materials at once. He wore 
knee breeches and a kind of leggings rolled up over his silk 
clockings, and shoes with buckles ; he had ruffles at his wrists, 
a three-cornered hat on his head, and a long taper sword by 
his side. The flaps of his waistcoat came half way down his 
thighs, and the ends of his cravat reached to his waist. lie 
stalked gravely to the coach-door, pulled off his hat, and held 
it out above his head at arm’s length, cocking his little finger 
in the air at the same time, as some affected people do when 
they take a cup of tea ; then drew his feet together, and made 
a low grave bow, and then put out his left hand. My uncle 
was just going to step forward, and shake it heartily, when he 
perceived that these attentions were directed not towards him, 
but to a young lady, w’ho just then appeared at the foot of the 
steps, attired in an old-fashioned green velvet dress, with a long 
waist and stomacher. She had no bonnet on her head, gentle- 
men, which was muffled in a black silk hood, but she looked 
round for an instant, as she prepared to get into the coach, and 
such a beautiful face as she discovered my uncle had never 
seen — not even in a picture. She got into the coach, holding 
uy her dress with one hand, and as ray uncle always said 
with a round oath, when he told the story, he wouldn’t have 
believed it possible that legs and feet could have been brought 
to such a state of perfection unless he had seen them with his 
own eyes. 

“ But in this one glimpse of the beautiful face, my uncle saw 
that the young lady had cast an imploring look upon him, and 
that she appeared terrified and distressed. He noticed, too, 
that the young fellow in the powdered wig, notwithstanding 
his show of gallantry, which was all very fine and grand, 
clasped her tight by the wrist when she got in, and followed 
himself immediately afterwards. An uncommonly ill-looking 
fellow in a close brown wig, and a plum-colored suit, wearing 
a very large sword and boots up to his hips, belonged to the 
parly; and when he sat himself down next to the young lady, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


7ei 

who shrunk into a corner at his approach, my uncle was con- 
firmed in his original impression that something dark and mys- 
terious was going forward, or, as he always said himself, that 
‘there was a screw loose somewhere.’ It’s quite surprising 
how quickly he made up his mind to help the lady at any peril, 
if she needed help. 

“ ‘ Death and lightning !’ exclaimed the young gentleman, 
laying his hand upon his sword, as my uncle entered tho 
coach. 

“ ‘ Blood and thunder !’ roared the other gentleman. With 
this he whipped his sword out, and made a lunge at my uncle 
without further ceremony. My uncle had no weapon about him, 
but with great dexterity he snatched the ill-looking gentleman’s 
three-cornered hat from his head, and received the point of his 
sword right through the crown, squeezed the sides together, and 
held it tight. 

“ ‘ Pink him behind,’ cried the ill-looking gentleman to his 
companion, as he struggled to regain his sword. 

“ ‘ He had better not,’ cried my uncle, displaying the heel of 
one of his shoes in a threatening manner. ‘ I’ll kick his brains 
out if he has any, or fracture his skull if he hasn’t.’ Exerting 
ail his strength at this moment, my uncle wrenched the ill-look- 
ing man’s sword from his grasp, and flung it clean out of the 
coach window, upon which the younger gentleman vociferated, 

‘ Death and lightning !’ again, and laid his hand upon the hilt 
of his sword in a very fierce manner, but didn’t draw it. Per- 
haps, gentleman, as my uncle used to say, with a smile, perhaps 
he was afraid of alarming the lady. 

‘“Now, gentlemen,’ said my uncle, taking his seat delibe- 
rately, ‘ I don’t want to have any death with or without light- 
ning in a lady’s presence, and we have had quite blood and 
thundering enough for one journey ; so, if you please, we’ll sit in 
our places like quiet insides — here, guard, pick up that gentle- 
man’s carving-knife.’ 

“As quickly as my uncle said these words, the guard 
appeared at the coach-window with the gentleman’s sword in 
his hand. He held up his lantern, and looked earnestly in my 
uncle’s face, as he handed it in, when by its light my uncle saw, 
to his great surprise, that an immense crowd of mail-coach 


762 THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

guards swarmed round the window, every one of whom had his 
eyes earnestly fixed upon him too. He had never seen such 
a sea of white faces and red bodies, and earnest eyes, in all 
his born days. 

“ ‘ This is the strangest sort of thing I ever had any thing to 
do with,’ thought my uncle — ‘ allow me to return you your hat, 
Sir,’ 

The ill-looking gentleman received his three-cornered hat 
in silence — looked at the hole in the middle with an inquiring 
air, and finally stuck it on the top of his wig, with a solemnity 
the effect of which was a trifle impaired by his sneezing vio- 
lently at the moment, and jerking it off again. 

“ ‘ All right !’ cried the guard with the lantern, mounting into 
his little seat behind. Away they went My uncle peeped 
out of the coach- window as they emerged from the yard, and 
observed that the other mails, with coachmen, guards, horses, 
and passengers complete, were driving round and round in 
circles, at a slow trot of about five miles an hour. My uncle 
burnt with indignation, gentlemen. As a commercial man, he 
felt that the mail bags were not to be trifled with, and he re- 
solved to memorialise the Post-office upon the subject, the veiy 
instant he reached London. 

“ At present, however, his thoughts were occupied with the 
young lady who sat in the furthest comer of the coach, with her 
face muffled closely in her hood : the gentleman with the sky 
blue coat sitting opposite to her, and the other man in the 
plum-colored suit, by her side, and both watching her intently. 
If she so much as rustled the folds of her hood, he could hear 
the ill-looking man clap his hand upon his sword, and tell by 
the other’s breathing (it was so dark he couldn’t see his face) 
that he was looking as big as if he were going to devour her at 
a mouthful. This roused my uncle more and more, and he 
reso'ved, come what might, to see the end of it. He had a 
great admiration for bright eyes, and sweet faces, and pretty 
legs and feet ; in short he was fond of the whole sex. It runs 
in our family, gentlemen — so am I. 

“ Many were the devices which my uncle practised to attract 
the lady’s attention, or at all events, to engage the mysterious 
gentlemen in convev -ation. They were aU in vain : the gentle* 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


7C3 


men wouldn’t talk, and the lady didn’t dare. He thrust hia 
head out of the eoaeh-vvindow at intervals, and bawled oui to 
know why they didn’t go faster. But he called till he was 
hoarse — nobody paid the least attention to him. He leant back 
in the coach, and thought of the beautiful face, and the feet and 
legs. This answered better; it wiled away the time, and kept 
him from wondering where he was going to, and how it was he 
found h’mself in such an odd situatio.n. Not that this would 
have worried him much any way — he was a mighty, free and 
easy, roving, devil-may-care sort of person, was my uncle, 
gentlemen. 

“ All of a sudden the coach stopped. ‘ Hallo I’ said my uncle, 

* What’s in the wind now ?’ 

“ ‘Alight here,’ said the guard, letting down the steps. 

“ ‘ Here !’ cried my Uncle. 

“ ‘ Here,’ rejoined the guard. 

“ ‘ I’ll do nothing of the sort,’ said my uncle. 

« t Very well — then stop where you are,’ said the guard. 

“ ‘ I will,’ said my uncle. 

“ ‘ Do,’ said the guard. 

“ The other passengers had regarded this colloquy with great 
attention ; and finding that my uncle was determined not to 
alight, the younger man squeezed past him, to hand the lady 
out. At this moment the ill-looking man was inspecting the 
hole in the crown of his three-cornered hat. As the young lady 
brushed past, she dropped one of her gloves into my uncle’s 
hand, and softly whispered with her lips, so close to his face 
that he felt her warm breath on his nose, the single word, 

* Help 1’ Gentlemen, my uncle leaped out of the coach at once 
with such violence that it rocked on the springs again. 

“ * Oh I you’ve thought better of it, have you ?’ said the 
guard, when he saw my uncle standing on the ground. 

** My uncle looked at the guard for a few seconds, in some 
doubt whether it wouldn’t be better to wrench his blunderbuss 
from him, fire it in the face of the man with the big sword, knock 
the rest of the company over the head with the stock, snatch up 
the young lady, and go off in the smoke. On second thoughts, 
however, he abandoned this plan as being a shade too melo- 
dramatic in the execution, and followed the two mysterious 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


TW 

men, who, keeping the lady between them, were now entering 
an old house in front of which the coach had stopped. They 
turned into the passage, and my uncle followed. 

“ Of all the ruinous and desolate places my uncle had ever 
beheld, this was the most so. It looked as if it had once been 
a large house of entertainment, but the roof had fallen in, in 
many places, and the stairs were steep, rugged, and broken. 
There was a huge fire-place in the room into which they walked, 
and the chimney was blackened with smoke, but no warm blaze 
lighted it up now. The white feathery dust of burnt wood was 
still strewed over the hearth, but the stove was cold, and all 
was dark and gloomy. 

“‘Well,’ said my uncle as he looked about him, ‘A mail 
travelling at the rate of six miles and a half an hour, and stop- 
ping for an indefinite time at such a hole as this, is rather an 
irregular sort of proceeding I fancy. This shall be made 
known ; I’ll write to the papers.’ 

“ My uncle said this in a pretty loud voice, and in an open 
unreserved sort of manner, with the view of engaging the two 
strangers in conversation if he could. But neither of them took 
any more notice of him than whispering to each other, and 
scowling at him as they did so. The lady was at the further 
end of the room, and once she ventured to wave her hand, as 
if beseeching my uncle’s assistance. 

“ At length the two strangers advanced a little, and the con- 
versation began in earnest. 

“ ‘ You don’t know this is a private room ; I suppose, fellow,’ 
said the gentleman in sky-blue. 

“ ‘ No I do not, fellow,’ rejoined my uncle. ‘ Only if this is 
a private room, specially ordered for the occasion, I should 
think the public room must be a very comfortable one ;’ with 
this, my uncle sat himself down in a high-backed chair and took 
such an accurate measure of the gentleman ivith his eyes, that 
Tiggin and Welps could have supplied him with printed calico 
for a suit, and not an inch too much or too little, from that 
estimate alone. 

“ ‘ Quit this room,’ said both the men together, grasping 
their swords. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


765 


« ‘ Eh said my uncle not at all appearing to comprehend' 
their meaning. 

“ ‘ Quit the room, or you are a dead man,’ said the ill-looking 
fellow with the large sword, drawing it at the same dme and 
flourishing it in the air. 

“ ‘ Down with him I’ said the gentleman in sky-blue, drawing 
his sword also, and falling back two or three yards. ‘Down 
with him !’ The lady gave a loud scream. 

“ Now, my uncle was always remarkable for great boldness and 
great presence of mind. All the time he had appeared so indif- 
ferent to what was going on, he had been looking slily about 
for some missile or weapon of defence, and at the very instant 
when the swords were drawm, he espied standing in the chimney 
corner, an old basket-hilted rapier in a rusty scabbard. At 
one bound, my uncle caught it in his hand, drew it, flourished 
it gallantly above his head, called aloud to the lady to keep out 
of the w’ay, hurled the chair at the man in sky-blue, and the 
scabbard at the man in plum-color, and taking advantage of 
the confusion, fell upon them both, pell-mell. 

“ Gentlemen, there is an old story — none the worse for being 
true — regarding a fine young Irish gentleman, who being asked 
if he could play the fiddle, replied he had no doubt he could, 
but he couldn’t exactly say for certain, because he had nevei 
tried. This is not inapplicable to my uncle and his fencing. 
He had never had a sword in his hand before, except once 
when he played Richard the Third at a private theatre, upon 
which occasion it was arranged with Richmond that he was to 
be run through from behind without showing fight at all ; but 
here he was, cutting and slashing with two experienced swords- 
men, thrusting, and guarding, and poking, and slicing, and 
acquitting himself in the most manful and dexterous manner 
possible, although up to that time he had never been aware 
that he had the least notion of the science. It only shows how 
\rtie the old saying is, that a man never knows what he can do, 
till he tries, gentlemen. 

“The noise of the combat was terrific, each of the three 
combatants swearing like troopers, and their swords clashing 
with as much noise as if all the knives and steels in Newport 
market were rattling together at the same time. When it was 


766 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


at its very height, the lady, to encourage my uncle, most proba- 
bly, withdrew her hood entirely from her face, and disclosed a 
countenance of such dazzling beauty, that he would have 
fought against fifty men to win one smile from it and die. He 
had done wonders before, but now he began to powder away 
like a raving mad giant. 

“At this very moment, the gentleman in sky-blue turning 
round, and seeing the young lady with her face uncovered, 
vented an exclamation of rage and jealousy; and turning his 
weapon against her beautiful bosom, pointed a thrust at her 
heart which caused my uncle to utter a cry of apprehension 
that made the building ring. The lady stepped lightly aside, 
and snatching the young man’s sword from his hand before he 
had recovered his balance, drove him to the wall, and running 
it through him and the pannelling up to the very hilt, pinned 
him there hard and fast. It was a splendid example. My 
uncle, with a loud shout of triumph and a strength that was 
irresistible, made his adversary retreat in the same direction, 
and plunging the old rapier into the very centre of a large red 
flower in the pattern of his waistcoat, nailed him beside his 
friend ; there they both stood, gentlemen, jerking their arms and 
legs about in agony, like the toy-shop figures that are moved by 
a piece of packthread. My uncle always said afterwards, that 
this was one of the surest means he knew of, for disposing of an 
enemy ; but it was liable to one objection on the ground of 
expense, inasmuch as it involved the loss of a sword for every 
man disabled. 

“ ‘ The mail I the mail I’ cried the lady, running up to my 
uncle, and throwing her beautiful arms round his neck; ‘we 
may yet escape.’ 

“ ‘ May P said my uncle ; ‘ why, my dear, there’s nobody else 
to kill, is there ?’ My uncle was rather disappointed, gentle- 
men, for he thought a little quiet bit of love-making would be 
agreeable after the slaughtering, if it were only to change the 
subject. 

“ ‘We have not an instant to lose here,’ said the young lady. 
‘ He (pointing to the young gentleman in sky-blue) is the only 
son of the powerful Marquess of Filletoville.’ 

“ ‘ Well then, my dear, I’m afraid he’ll never come to the 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


767 


title/ said my uncle, looking coolly at the young gentleman as 
he stood fixed up against the wall, in the cockchaffer fashion I 
have described. ‘ You have cut off the entail, my love.* 

“ ‘ I have been tom from my home and friends by these 
villains, said the young lady, her features glowing with indig- 
nation. ‘ That wretch would have married me by violence in 
another hour.^ 

‘ Confound his impudence said my uncle, bestowing a very 
contemptuous look on the dying heir of Filletoville. 

“ * As you may guess from what I have seen,^ said the young 
lady, ‘ the party are prepared to murder me if you appeal to 
any one for assistance. If their accomplices find us here, we 
are lost. Two minutes hence may be too late. The mail I’ — 
and with these words, overpowered by her feelings and the exer- 
tion of sticking the young Marquess of Filletoville, she sunk 
into my uncle’s arms. My uncle caught her up, and bore her 
to the house-door. There stood the mail with four long-tailed 
flowing-maned black horses, ready harnessed ; but no coach- 
man, no guard, no ostler even, at the horses’ heads. 

Gentlemen, I hope I do no injustice to my uncle’s memory, 
when I express my opinion, that although he was a bachelor, he 
had held some ladies in his arras before this time : I believe 
indeed, that he had rather a habit of kissing barmaids, and I 
know, that in one or two instances, he had been seen by credible 
witnesses, to hug a landlady in a very perceptible manner. I 
mention the circumstance, to show what a very uncommon sort 
of person this beautiful young lady must have been to have 
affected my uncle in the way she did ; he used to say, that as 
her long dark hair trailed over his arm, and her beautiful dark 
eyes fixed themselves upon his face when she recovered, he feb 
so strange and nervous, that his legs trembled beneath him. 
But who can look in a sweet soft pair of dark eyes, without 
feeling queer ? I can't, gentlemen. I am afraid to look at 
some eyes I know, and that’s the truth of it. 

“ ‘You will never leave me,’ murmured the young lady. 

“ ‘Never,’ said my uncle. And he meant it too. 

“‘My dear preserver I’ exclaimed the young lady. ‘My 
dear, kind, brave preserver I’ 

“ ‘ Don’t,’ said ray uncle, interrupting her. 

49 


768 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


« < Why V inquired the young lady. 

" ‘ Because your mouth looks so beautiful when you speak, 
rejoined my uncle, ‘ that I am afraid I shall be rude enough to 
kiss it.’ 

“ The young lady put up her hand as if to caution my uncle 
not to do so, and said — no, she didn’t say anything — she smiled. 
When you are looking at a pair of the most delicious lips in 
the world, and see them gently break into a roguish smile — if 
you are very near them, and nobody else by — you cannot better 
testify your admiration of their beautiful form and colour than by 
kissing them at once. My uncle did so, and I honor him for it. 

‘ Hark 1’ cried the young lady, starting. ‘ The noise of the 
wheels and horses.’ 

“ ‘ So it is,’ said my uncle, listening. He had a good ear for 
wheels and the trampling of hoofs, but there appeared to be so 
many horses and carriages rattling towards them at a distance, 
that it was impossible to form a guess at their number. The 
sound was like that of fifty breaks, with six blood cattle in 
each. 

“ ‘ We are pursued 1’ cried the young lady, clasping her hands, 
* We are pursued. I have no hope but in you.’ 

“ There was such an expression of terror in her beautiful face, 
that my uncle made up his mind at once. He lifted her into 
the coach, told her not to be frightened, pressed his lips to hers 
once more, and then advising her to draw up the windows to 
keep the cold air out, mounted to the box. 

“ ‘ Stay, love,’ cried the young lady. 

“ ‘ What’s the matter,’ sat^ my uncle from the coach-box. 

“ ‘ I want to speak to you,’ said the young lady ; ‘ only a 
word — only one word, dearest.’ 

“‘Must I get down V inquired my uncle. The lady made 

no answer, but she smiled again. Such a smile, gentlemen I 

it beat the other one all to nothing. My uncle descended 
from his perch in a twinkling. 

“ ‘ What is it, my dear V said my uncle, looking in at the 
coach window. The lady happened to bend forward at the 
same time, and my uncle thought she looked raore beautiful 
than she had done yet. He was very close to her just then, 
gentlemen, so he really ought to know. 


THE PICKAVICK PAPERS. 


769 


“ ‘ "What is it, my dear said my uncle. 

‘ Will you never love any one but me — never marry any one 
beside said the young lady. 

“ My uncle swore a great oath that he never would marry 
any body else, and the young lady drew in her head, and pulied 
up the window. He jumped upon the box, squared his elbows, 
adjusted the ribands, seized the whip which lay on the root) 
gave one flick to the ofl leader, and away went the four long- 
tailed, flowing-maned black horses, at fifteen good English 
miles an hour, with the old mail coach behind them — whew 1 
how they tore along I 

“ But the noise behind grew louder. The faster went the old 
mail, the faster came the pursuers — men, horses, dogs, were 
leagued in the pursuit. The noise was frightful, but above all 
rose the voice of the young lady, urging my uncle on, and 
shrieking, ‘ faster I faster 1’ 

“ They whirled past the dark trees as feathers would be swept 
before a hurricane. Houses, gates, churches, haystacks, objects 
of every kind they shot by, with a velocity and noise like roar- 
ing waters suddenly let loose. But still the noise of pursuit 
grew louder, and still my uncle could hear the young lady 
wildly scream, ‘faster I faster 

“ My uncle plied whip and rein, and the horses flew onward 
till they were white with foam ; and yet the noise behind 
increased, and yet the young lady cried, ‘ faster I faster I’ My 
uncle gave a loud stamp upon the boot in the energy of the 
moment, and — found that it was grey morning, and he was 
sitting in the wheelwright’s yard on the box of an old Edinburgh 
mail, shivering with the cold and wet, and stamping his feet to 
warm them ! He got down, and looked eagerly inside for the 
beautiful young lady — alas I there was neither door nor seat to 
the coach — it was a mere shell. 

“ Of course my uncle knew very well that there was some 
mystery in the matter, and that every thing had passed exactly 
as he used to relate it. He remained staunch to the great oath 
he had sworn to the beautiful young lady ; refusing several 
eligible landladies on her account, and died a bachelor at last. 
He always said what a curious thing it was that he should have 
found out, by such a mere accident as his clambering over the 


T70 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS* 


palings, that the ghosts of mail-coaches and horses, guards, 
coachmen, and passengers, were in the habit of making journeys 
regularly every night ; he used to add that he believed he was 
the only living person who had ever been taken as a passenger 
on one of these excursions ; and I think he was right, gentle- 
men — at least I never heard of any other. ” 


“ I wonder what these ghosts of mail-coaches carry in their 
bags,” said the landlord, who had listened to' the whole story 
with profound attention. 

“ The dead letters of course,” said the bagman. 

‘*Oh, ah — to be sure,” rejoined the landlord. never 
thought of that.” 


CHAFTER LI. 


HO'W MR. PICK^^^CK SPED UPON mS MISSION, AND HOW HE 

WAS REINFORCED IN THE OUTSET BY A MOST UNEXPECTED 

AUXILIARY. 

The horses were put to, punctually at a quarter before nine 
next morning, and Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller having each 
taken his seat, the one inside and the other out, the postilion 
was duly directed to repair in the first instance to Mr. Bob 
Sawyer’s house, for the purpose of taking up Mr. Benjamin 
Allen. 

It was with feelings of no small astonishment, when the car- 
riage drew up before the door with the red lamp, and the very 
legible inscription of “ Sawyer, late Nockemorf,” that Mr. 
Pickwick saw, on popping his head out of the coach-window, 
the boy in the grey livery very busily employed in putting up 
the shutters: the which being an unusual and rather un-busi- 
ness-like proceeding at that hour of the morning, at once sug- 
gested to his mind two inferences — the one, that some good 
friend and patient of Mr. Bob Sawyer’s was dead ; the other, 
that Mr. Bob Sawyer himself was bankrupt. 

“ What is the matter ?” said Mr. Pickwick to the boy. 

Nothing’s the matter. Sir,” replied the boy, expanding his 
mouth to the whole breadth of his countenance. 

“All right, all right,” cried Bob Sawyer, suddenly appearing 
at the door, with a small leathern knapsack, limp and dirty, in 
one hand, and a rough coat and shawl thrown over the other 
arm. “I’m going, old fellow.” 

“ You !” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 

“Yes,” replied Bob Sawyer, “and a regular expedition we’ll 
make of it Here, Sam — look out.” Thus briefly bespeaking 
Mr. Weller's attention, Mr. Bob Sawyer jerked the leathern 
knapsack into the dickey, where it was immediately stowed away 
under the seat, by Sam, who regarded the proceeding with 
great admiration. This done, Mr. Bob Sawyer, with the 


772 


THE PICKWICK PAPEKS. 


assistance of the boy, forcibly worked himself into the rongh 
coat, which was a few sizes too small for him, and then 
advancing to the coach window, thrust in his head, and laughed 
boisterously. 

“ What a start it is — isn^t it ?” said Bob, wiping the tears 
out of his eyes, with one of the cuffs of the rough coat. 

“My dear Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, with some embarrass- 
ment, “ I had no idea of your accompanying us. ” 

“ No, that’s just the very thing,” replied Bob, seizing Mr. 
Pickwick by the lappel of his coat. “ That’s the joke.” 

“ Oh- that’s the joke, is it ?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Of course,” replied Bob. “ It’s the whole point of the 
thing, you know — that, and leaving the business to take care of 
itself, a*: it seems to have made up its mind not to take care of 
me.” With this explanation of the phenomenon of the shut- 
ters, Mr. Bob Sawyer pointed to the shop, and relapsed into an 
ecstacy ol mirth. 

“ Bless me, you are surely not mad enough to think of leaving 
your patient;s without anybody to attend them I” remonstrated 
Mr. Pickwick, in a very serious tone. 

“Why not?” asked Bob, in reply. “T shall save by it, you 
know. None of them ever pay. Besides,” said Bob, lowering 
his voice to a confidential whisper, “ they will be all the better 
for it, for being nearly out of drugs and not able to increase my 
account just now, I should have been obliged to give them 
calomel all round, and it would have been certain to have dis- 
agreed with some of them — so it’s all for the best.” 

There was a philosophy and a strength of reasoning about 
this reply, which Mr. Pickwick was not prepared for. He 
paused a few moments, and added, less firmly than before — 

“ But this chaise, my young friend — this chaise will only hold 
two ; and I am pledged to Mr Allen.” 

“ Don’t think of me for a minute,” replied Bob. “ I’ve 
arranged it all ; Sam and I will share the dickey between us. 
Look here. This little bill is to be watered on the shop-door ; 
^Sawyer, late Nockemorf. Inquire of Mrs. Cripps over tlio 
way.’ — Mrs. Cripps is my boy’s mother. — ‘ Mr. Sawyer’s very 
sorry,’ says Mrs. Cripps, ‘ couldn’t help it — fetched away early 
this morning to a consultation of the very first surgeons in the 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


m 


country— couldn’t do without him — would have him at any 
price — tremendous operation.’ The fact is,” said Bob, in con- 
clusion — “ It’ll do me more good than otherwise, I expect. If 
it gets into one of the local papers, it will be the making of me. 
Here’s Ben — now then, jump in.” 

With these hurried words, Mr. Bob Sawyer pushed the post- 
boy on one side, jerked his friend into the vehicle, slammed the 
door, put up the steps, watered the bill on the street-door, 
locked it, put the key in his pocket, jumped into the dickey, 
gave the word for starting ; and did the whole with such extra- 
ordinary precipitation, that before Mr. Pickwick had well 
begun to consider whether Mr. Bob Sawyer ought to go or 
not, they were rolling away with Mr. Bob Sawyer, thoroughly 
established as part and parcel of the equipage. 

So long as their progress was confined to the streets of Bris- 
tol, the facetious Bob kept his professional green spectacles on, 
and conducted himself with becoming steadiness and gravity of 
demeanor, merely giving utterance to divers verbal witticisms 
for the exclusive behoof and entertainment of Mr. Samuel Wel- 
ler, but when they emerged upon the open road, he threw off 
his green spectacles and his gravity together, and performed a 
great variety of practical jokes, which were rather calculated 
perhaps to attract the attention of the passers-by, and to render 
the carriage and those it contained, objects of more than ordi- 
nary curiosity ; the least conspicuous among these feats being a 
most vociferous imitation of a key-bugle, and the ostentatious 
display of a crimson silk pocket-handkerchief attached to a 
walking-stick, which was occasionally waved in the air with 
various gestures indicative of supremacy and defiance. 

“ I wonder,” said Mr. Pickwick, stopping in the midst of a 
most sedate conversation with Ben Allen, bearing reference to 
the numerous good qualities of Mr. Winkle and his sister — “ I 
wonder what all the people we pass can see in us to make 
them stare so.” 

“ It’s a neat turn-out,” replied Ben ^ Allen, with something of 
pride in his tone. They’re not used to see this sort of thing 
every day, I dare say.” 

** Possibly,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “ It may be so. Per- 
liaps it is.” 


774 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Mr. Pickwick might very prob ibly have reasoned himself into 
the belief that it really was, had he not, just then happening to 
look out of the coach window, observed that the looks of the 
passengers betokened anything but respectful astonishment, and 
that various telegraphic communications appeared to be pass- 
ing between them and some persons outside the vehiele, where- 
upon it all at once occurred to him that these demonstrations 
might be, in some degree, referable to the humorous deportment 
of Mr. Robert Sawyer. 

“I hope,” said Mr. Pickwick, “that our volatile friend is 
committing no absurdities in that dickey behind.” 

“Oh dear, no,” replied Ben Allen. “Except when he’s 
elevated, Bob’s the quietest creature breathing.” 

Here a prolonged imitation of a key-bugle broke upon the 
ear, succeeded by cheers and screams, all of which evidently 
proceeded from the throat and lungs of the quietest creature 
breathing, or in plainer designation, of Mr. Bob Sawyer him- 
self. 

Mr Pickwick and Mr. Ben Allen looked expressively at 
each other, and the former gentlemen taking off his hat, and 
leaning out of the coach window till nearly the whole of his 
waistcoat was outside it, was at length enabled to catch a 
glimpse of his facetious friend. 

Mr. Bob Sawyer was seated, not in the dickey, but on the 
roof of the chaise, with his legs as far asunder as they would 
conveniently go, wearing Mr. Samuel Weller’s hat on one side 
of his head, and bearing in one hand a most enormous sand- 
wich, and in the other he supported a goodly-sized case bottle, 
to both of which he applied himself with intense relish, varying 
the monotony of the occupation by an occasional howl, or the 
interchange of some lively badinage with any passing stranger. 
The crimson flag was carefully tied in an erect position to the 
rail of the dickey^ and Mr. Samuel Weller, decorated with Bob 
Sawyer’s hat, was seated in the centre thereof, discussing a twin 
sandwich with an animated countenance, the expression of 
which betokened his entire and perfect approval of the whole 
arrangement. 

This was enough to irritate a gentleman with Mr. Pickwick’a 
sense of propriety, but it was not the whole extent of the aggra- 



MR. BOB sawyer’s MODE OF TRAVELLING. — Page 774 







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THE PICKWICK PAPERS, 


776 


vation, for a stage-coach full, inside and out, was meeting them 
at the moment, and the astonishment of the passengers was very 
palpably evinced. The congratulations of an Irish family, too, 
who were keeping up with the chaise, and begging all the time, 
were of rather a boisterous description ; especially those of its 
male head, who appeared to consider the display as part and 
parcel of some political, or other procession of triumph. 

“Mr. Sawyer,” cried Mr. Pickwick, in a state of great 
excitement. “ Mr. Sawyer, Sir I” 

“ Hallo I” responded that gentleman, looking over the side 
of the chaise with all the coolness in life. 

“ Are you mad, Sir ?” demanded Mr. Pickwick. 

“Not a bit of it,” replied Bob, “ only cheerful.” 

“ Cheerful, Sir I” ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. “ Take down 
that scandalous red handkerchief I beg — I insist, Sir. Sam, 
take it down.” 

Before Sam could interpose, Mr. Bob Sawyer gracefully 
struck his colors, and having put them in his pocket, nodded iu 
a courteous manner to Mr. Pickwick, wiped the mouth of the 
case-bottle, and applied it to his own ; thereby informing him 
without any unnecessary waste of words, that he devoted that 
draught to wishing him all manner of happiness and prosperity. 
Having done this. Bob replaced the cork with great care, and 
looking benignantly down on Mr. Pickwick, took a large bite 
out of the sandwich, and smiled. 

“ Come,” said Mr. Pickwick, whose momentary anger was 
not quite proof against Bob’s immovable self possession, “ pray 
let us have no more of this absurdity. Sir.” 

“ No, no,” replied Bob, once more exchanging hats with Mr. 
Weller ; “ I didn’t mean to do it, only I got so enlivened with 
the ride that I couldn’t help it.” 

“ Think of the look of the thing,” expostulated Mr. Pick- 
wick ; “ have some regard to appearances.” 

“ Oh, certainly,” said Bob, “ it’s not the sort of thing at all. 
.All over, governor.” 

Satisfied with this assurance, Mr. Pickwick once more drew 
his head into the chaise and pulled up the glass ; but he had 
scarcely resumed the conversation which Mr. Bob Sawyer had 
iutemipted, when he was a mewhat startled by the apparition 


776 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


of a small dark body, of an oblong form, on the outside of the 
window, which gave sundry taps against it, as if impatient of 
admission. 

“ Whafs this I” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 

It looks like a case-bottle remarked Ben Allen, eyeing 
the object in question through his spectacles with some interest ; 

I rather think it belongs to Bob.” 

The impression was perfectly accurate, for Bob Sawyer hav« 
ing attached the case-bottle to the end of the walking-stick, was 
battering the window with it, in token of his wish that his 
friends inside would partake of its contents, in all good fellow- 
ship and harmony. 

“ What’s to be done ?” said Mr. Pickwick, looking at the 
bottle. “ This proceeding is more absurd than the other.” 

“ I think it would be best to take it in,” replied Mr. Ben 
Allen ; “ it would serve him right to take it in and keep it, 
wouldn’t it ?” 

‘‘ It would,” said Mr. Pickwick : “ shall I ?” 

** I think it the most proper course we could possibly adopt,” 
replied Ben. 

I'liis advice quite coinciding with his own opinion, Mr. Pick- 
wick gently let down the window and disengaged the bottle 
from the stick ; upon which the latter was drawn up, and Mr. 
Bob Sawyer was heard to laugh heartily. 

“ What a merry dog it is,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking round 
at his companion with the bottle in his hand. 

“ He is,” said Mr. Allen. 

“You cannot possibly be angry with him,” remarked Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“ Quite out of the question,” observed Benjamin Allen. 

During this short interchange of sentiments, Mr. Pickwick 
had, in an abstracted mood, uncorked the bottle. 

“ What is it ?” inquired Ben Allen, carelessly. 

“ I don’t know,” replied Mr. Pickwick, with equal careless- 
ness. “ It smells, I think, like milk punch.” 

“ Oh, indeed 1” said Ben. 

“ I think so,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick, very properly guarding 
himself against the possibility of stating an untruth : “ mind, I 
could not undertake to say for certain, without tasting it.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


777 


** You had better do so,” said Ben; “we may as well know 
what it is. ” 

“ Do you think so ?” replied Mr. Pickwick. “ Well, if you 
are curious to know, of course I have no objection.” 

Ever willing to sacrifice his own feelings to the wishes of his 
friend, Mr. Pickwick at once took a pretty long taste. 

“ hat is it ?” inquired Ben Allen, interrupting him with 
some impatience. 

“Curious,” said Mr. Pickwick, smacking his lips, “I hardly 
know, now. Oh, yes,” said Mr. Pickwick, after a second taste, 
“ it ts punch ” 

Mr. Ben Allen looked at Mr. Pickwick; Mr. Pickwick 
looked at Mr. Ben Allen. Mr. Ben Allen smiled ; Mr, Pick- 
wick did not. 

“It would serve him right,” said the last-named gentleman, 
with some severity, “ it would serve him right to drink it every 
dj’op.” 

“ The very thing that occurred to me,” said Ben Allen. 

Is it indeed I” rejoined Mr. Pickwick. “ Then here’s his 
health.” With these words, that excellent person took a most 
e)»ergetic pull at the bottle, and handed it to Ben Allen, who 
was not slow to imitate his example. The smiles became 
mutual, and the milk-punch was gradually and cheerfully dis- 
posed of. 

“ After all,” said Mr. Pickwick, as he drained the last 
drop, “ his pranks are really very amusing — very entertaining 
indeed.” 

“You may say that,” rejoined Mr. Ben Allen. And in proof 
of Bob Sawyer’s being one of the funniest fellows alive, he pro- 
ceeded to entertain Mr. Pickwick with a long and circumstantial 
account how that gentleman once drank himself into a feve- 
and got his head shaved ; the relation of which pleasant and 
agreeable history was only stopped by the stoppage of the 
chaise at the Bell at Berkeley Heath, to change horses. 

“ I say, we’re going to dine here, aren’t we ?” said Bob 
looking in at the window. 

"Dine!” said Mr. Pickwick. “Why, we have only come 
niueteeii miles, and have got eighty-seven and a half to go.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


ns 

Just the reason why we should take something to enable us 
to bear up against the fatigue,” remonstrated Mr. Bob Sawyer. 

“ Oh, it’s quite impossible to dine at half-past eleven o’clock 
in the day,” replied Mr. Pickwick, looking at his watch. 

“ So it is,” rejoined Bob, “ lunch is the very thing. ITnllo, 
you Sir 1 Lunch for three directly ; and keep the horses back 
for a quarter of an hour. Tell them to put every thing they 
have got cold, on the table, and some bottled ale, — and let us 
taste your very best Madeira.” Issuing these orders with 
monstrous importance and bustle, Mr. Bob Sawyer at once 
hurried into the house to superintend the arrangements; in 
less than five minutes he returned and declared them to be 
excellent. 

The quality of the lunch fully justified the enlogium wliich 
Bob had pronounced, and very great justice was done to it, not 
only by that gentleman, but Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Pickwick 
also. Under the auspices of the three, the bottled ale and the 
Madeira were promptly disposed of; and when (the horses 
being once more put to) they resumed their seats, with the 
case-bottle full of the best substitute for milk-punch that could 
be procured on so short a notice, the key-bugle sounded and 
the red flag waved without the slightest opposition on Mr. 
Pickwick’s part. 

At the Hop Pole at Tewkesbury they stopped to dine ; upon 
which occasion there was more bottled ale, with some more 
Madeira, and some Port besides ; and here the case-bottle was 
replenished for the fourth time. Under the influence of these 
combined stimulants, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Ben Allen fell fast 
asleep for thirty miles, while Bob and Mr. Weller sang duets 
in the dickey. 

It was quite dark when Mr. Pickwick roused himself suf- 
ficiently to look out of the window. The straggling cottages 
by the road-side, the dingy hue of every object visible, the 
murky atmosphere, the paths of cinders and brick dust, the 
deep red glow of furnace-fires in the distance, the volumes of 
dense smoke issuing heavily forth from high toppling chimneys, 
blackening and obscuring every thing around ; the glare of 
distant lights, the ponderous wagons w'hich toiled along the 
road, laden with clashing rods of iron, or piled with heavy 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


779 


goods — all betokened their rapid approach to the great working 
town of Birmingham. 

As they rattled through the narrow thoroughfares leading to 
tho heart of the turmoil, the sights and sounds of earnest occu- 
pation struck more forcibly on the senses. The streets were 
thronged with working-people. The hum of labor resounded 
from every house ; lights gleamed from the long casement 
windows in the attic stories, and the whirl of wheels and noise 
of machinery shook the trembling walls. The fires, whose lurid 
sullen light had been visible for miles, blazed fiercely up in the 
great works and factories of the town. The din of hammers, 
the rushing of steam, and the dead heavy clanking of tho 
engines, was the harsh music which arose from every quarter. 

The postboy was driving briskly through the open streets and 
past the handsome and well-lighted shops which intervene be- 
tween the outskirts of the town and the old Royal Hotel, before 
Mr. Pickwick had begun to consider the very difficult and 
delicate nature of the commission which had carried him thither. 

The delicate nature of this commission, and the difficulty of 
executing it in a satisfactory manner, were by no means lessened 
by the voluntary companionship of Mr. Bob Sawyer : truth to 
tell, Mr. Pickwick felt that his presence on the occasion, how- 
ever considerate and gratifying, was by no means an honor he 
would willingly have sought ; in fact he would cheerfully have 
given a reasonable sum of money to have had Mr. Bob Sawyer 
removed to any place of not less than fifty miles’ distance with- 
out delay. 

Mr. Pickwick had never held any personal communication 
with Mr. AVinkle, senior, although he Wd once or twice corres- 
ponded with him by letter, and returned satisfactory answers to 
his inquiries concerning the moral character and behavior of 
his son ; he felt nervously sensible that to wait upon him for the 
first time attended by Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen, both slightly 
fuddled, was not the most ingenious and likely means that could 
have been hit upon to prepossess him in his favor. 

“However,” said Mr. Pickwick, endeavoring to re-assure 
himself, “ I must do the best I can : I must see him to-night, 
for I faithfully promised to do so ; and if they persist in accom- 
panying me. I must make the interview as brief as possible, ana 


T80 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


be content to hope that, for their own sakes they will not expose 
themselves.” 

As he comforted himself with these reflections, the chaise 
stopped at the door of the Old Royal. Ben Allen having been 
partially awakened from a stupendous sleep, and dragged out 
by the collar by Mr. Samuel Weller, Mr. Pickwick was enabled 
to alight. They were shown to a comfortable apartment, and 
Mr. Pickwick at once propounded a question to the waiter 
concerning the whereabout of Mr. Winkle’s residence. 

“Close by. Sir,” said the waiter, “not above five hundred 
yards. Sir. Mr. Winkle is a wharfinger. Sir, at the canal, Sir. 
Private residence is not — oh dear no. Sir, not five hundred yards, 
Sir.” Here the waiter blew a candle out and made a feint of 
lighting it again, in order to afford Mr. Pickwick an opportunity 
of asking any further questions, if he felt so disposed. 

“ Take anything now. Sir ?” said the waiter, lighting the 
candle m desperation at Mr. Pickwick’s silence. “Tea or 
coffee, Sir ? dinner. Sir ?” 

“ Nothing now.” 

“ Yery good. Sir. Like to order supper. Sir ?” 

“Not just now.” 

“ Very good. Sir. ” Here he walked softly to the door, and 
then stopping short, turned round and said with great sauvity — 

“ Shall I send the chambermaid, gentlemen ?” 

“ You may if you please,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“ If you please. Sir.” 

“ And bring some soda water,” said Bob Sawyer. 

“ Soda water. Sir? Yes, Sir.” And with his mind appa- 
rently relieved from an overwhelming weight, by having at last 
got an order for something, the waiter imperceptibly melted 
away. Waiters never walk or run. They have a peculiar and 
mysterious power of skimming out of rooms, which other mortals 
possess not. 

Some slight symptoms of vitality having been awakened in 
Mr. Ben Allen by the soda water, he suffered himself to be 
prevailed upon to wash his face, and hands, and to submit to 
be brushed by Sam. Mr. Pickwick and Bob Sawyer having 
also repaired the disorder which the journey had made in their 
fipparel, the three started forth, arm in arm, to Mr. Winkle’s j 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


781 


Bob Sawyer impregnating the atmosphere with tobacco smoko 
as he walked along. 

About a quarter of a mile off, in a quiet substantial looking 
street, stood an old rod-brick house with three steps before the 
door, and a brass plate upon it, bearing in fat Roman capitals 
the words, “Mr. Winkle.” the steps were very white, and the 
bricks were very red, and the house was very clean ; and here 
stood Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Benjamin Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer, 
as the clock struck ten. 

A smart servant girl answered the knock, and started on 
beholding the three strangers. 

“ Is Mr. Winkle at home, my dear ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ He is just going to supper. Sir,” replied the girl. 

“ Give him that card if you please,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 
“ Say I am sorry to trouble him at so late an hour ; but I am 
anxious to see him to-night, and have only just arrived.” 

The girl looked timidly at Mr. Bob Sawyer, who was ex- 
pressing his admiration of her personal charms by a variety of 
wonderful grimaces, and casting an eye at the hats and great- 
coats which hung in the passage, called another girl to mind the 
door while she went up stairs. The sentinel was speedily 
relieved, for the girl returned immediately, and begging pardon 
of the gentlemen for leaving them in the street, ushered them 
into a floor-clothed back parlor, half office and half dressing 
room, in which the principal useful and ornamental articles of 
furniture were a desk, a wash-hand stand and shaving glass, a 
boot-rack and boot-jack, a high stool, four chairs, a table and 
an old eight-day clock. Over the mantle-piece were the sunken 
doors of an iron safe, while a couple of hanging shelves for 
books, an almanac, and several files of dusty papers, decorated 
the walls. 

“Very sorry to leave you standing at the door. Sir,” said the 
girl, lighting a lamp, and addressing Mr. Pickwick with a 
winning smile, “ but you was quite strangers to me ; and we 
have such a many trampers that only come to see what they 
can lay their hands on, that really — ” 

“ There is not the least occasion for any apology, my dear,” 
said Mr. Pickwick, good humoredly. 

“Kot the slightest, my love,” said Bob Sawyer, playfully 


782 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Btretcliing forth his arms, and skipping from side to side, as if 
to prevent the young lady’s leaving the room. 

The young lady was not at all softened by these allurements, 
for she at once expressed her opinion that Mr. Bob Sawyer 
was an “ odous creeter and on his becoming rather more 
pressing in his attentions, imprinted her fair fingers upon his 
face, and bounced out of the room with many expressions of 
aversion and contempt. 

Deprived of the young lady’s society, Mr. Bob Sawyer pro- 
ceeded to divert himself by peeping into the desk, looking into 
all the table-drawers, feigning to pick the lock of the iron safe, 
turning the almanac with its face to the wall, trying Mr. 
Winkle, senior’s, boots on, over his own, and making several 
other humorous experiments upon the furniture, all of which 
afforded Mr. Pickwick unspeakable horror and agony, and 
yielded Mr. Bob Sawyer proportionate delight. 

At length the door opened, and a little old gentleman in a 
snuff-colored suit, with a head and face the precise counterpart 
of those belonging to Mr. Winkle junior, excepting that he was 
rather bald, trotted into the room with Mr. Pickwick’s card in 
one hand, and a silver candlestick in the other. 

“ Mr. Pickwick, Sir, how do you do ?” said Winkle the 
elder, putting down the candlestick and profiering his hand. 
‘‘ Hope I see you well. Sir. Glad to see you. Be seated, Mr. 
Pickwick, I beg. Sir. This gentleman is — ” 

“My friend, Mr. Sawyer,” interposed Mr. Pickwick, “your 
son’s friend.” 

“ Oh,” said Mr. Winkle the elder, looking rather grimly at 
Bob. “ I hope you are well, Sir.” 

“ Right as a trivet,” replied Bob Sawyer. 

“ This other gentleman,” cried Mr. Pickwick, “ is, as you 
will see, when you have read the letter with which I am 
entrusted, a very near relative, or I should rather say a very 
particular friend of your son’s. His name is Allen.” 

“ That gentleman,” inquired Mr. Winkle, pointing with the 
card towards Ben Allen, who had fallen asleep in an attitude 
which left nothing of him visible but his spine and his coat 
collar. 

Mr. Pickwick v 'is on the point of replying to the question, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


788 


and reciting Mr. Benjamin Allen’s name and honorable dis- 
tinctions at full length, when the sprightly Mr. Bob Sawyer, 
with the view of rousing his friend to a sense of his situation, 
inflicted a startling pinch upon the fleshy part of his arm, which 
caused him to jump up with a loud shriek. Suddenly aware 
(hat he was in the presence of a stranger, Mr. Ben Allen 
advanced, and shaking Mr. Winkle most affectionately by both 
hands for about five minutes, murmured in some half-intelli- 
gible fragments of sentences the great delight he felt in seeing 
him, and a hospitable inquiry, whether he felt disposed to take 
any thing after his walk, or would prefer waiting “ till dinner- 
time which done, he sat down and gazed about him with a 
petrified stare as if he had not the remotest idea where he was 
which indeed he had not. 

All this was most embarrassing to Mr. Pickwick, the more 
especially as Winkle, senior, evinced palpable astonishment at 
the eccentric — not to say extraordinary — behavior of his two 
companions. To bring the matter to an issue at once, he drew 
a letter from his pocket, and presenting it to Mr. Winkle, senior, 
said — 

*‘This letter. Sir, is from your son. You will see by its con- 
tents that on your favorable and fatherly consideration of it, 
depend his future happiness and welfare. Will you oblige me 
by giving it the calmest and coolest perusal, and by discussing 
the subject afterwards, with me, in the tone and spirit in wliich 
alone it ought to be discussed ? You may judge of the import- 
ance your decision is of, to your son, and his intense anxiety 
upon the subject, by my waiting upon you without any previous 
warning at so late an hour; and,” added Mr. Pickwick, glanc- 
ing slightly at his two companions, “ and under such unfavorable 
circumstances.” 

With this prelude, Mr. Pickwick placed four closely written 
sides of extra superfine wire-wove penitence in the hands of the 
astounded Mr. Winkle, senior; and reseating himself in his 
chair, watched his looks and manner, anxiously it is true, but 
with the open front of a gentleman who feels he has taken no 
part which he need excuse or palliate. 

The old wharfinger turned the letter over ; looked at the front, 
back, and sides ; made a microscopic examination of the fat 
60 


784 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS 


little boy on the seal ; raised his eyes to Mr. Pickwick’s face ; 
and then, seating himself on the high stool, and drawing the 
lamp closer to him, broke the wax, unfolded the epistle and 
lifting it to the light, prepared to read. 

Just at this moment, Mr. Bob Sawyer, whose wit had lain 
dormant for some minutes, placed his hand upon his knees and 
made a face after the portraits of the late Mr. Grimaldi, as 
clown. It so happened that Mr. Winkle, senior, instead of 
being deeply engaged in reading the letter, as Mr. Bob Sawyer 
thought, chanced to be looking over the top of it at no less a 
person than Mr. Bob Sawyer himself; and rightly conjecturing 
that the face aforesaid was made in ridicule and derision of his 
own person, he fixed his eyes on Bob with such expressive stern- 
ness, that the late Mr. Grimaldi’s lineaments gradually resolved 
themselves into a very fine expression of humility and confusion. 

“ Did you speak, Sir ?” inquired Mr. Winkle, senior, after 
an awful silence. 

“No, Sir,” replied Bob, wdth no remains of the clown about 
him, save and except the extreme redness of his cheeks. 

“You are sure you did not. Sir ?” said Mr. Winkle, senior. 

“ Oh, dear ; yes. Sir, quite,” replied Bob. 

“ I thought you did. Sir,” rejoined the old gentleman, with 
indignant emphasis. “ Perhaps you looked at me, Sir ?” 

“ Oh, no ! Sir, not at all,” replied Bob with extreme civility. 

“ I am very glad to hear it, Sir,” said Mr. Winkle, senior. 
Having frowned upon the abashed Bob with great magnificence, 
the old gentleman again brought the letter to the light, and 
began to read it seriously. 

Mr. Pickwick eyed him intently as he turned from the bottom 
line of the first page to the top line of the second, and from the 
bottom of the second to the top of the third, and from the 
bottom of the third to the top of the fourth ; but not the 
slightest alteration of countenance afforded a clue to the feel- 
ings with which he received the announcement of his son’s 
marriage, which Mr. Pickwick knew was in the very first half- 
dozen lines. 

He read the letter to the last word, folded it again with all 
the carefulness and precision of a man of business ; and. just 
when Mr. Pickwick expected some great outbreak of feeling, 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


786 


dipped a pen in the inkstand, and said as quietly as if he were 
speaking on the most ordinary counting-house topic — 

“ What is Nathaniel’s address, Mr. Pickwick ?” 

*‘The George and Vulture, at present,” replied that gentle- 
man. 

“ George and Vulture. Where is that ?” 

“ George- Yard, Lombard- Street.” 

** In the city ?” 

“Yes.” 

The old gentleman methodically indorsed the address on the 
back of the letter ; and then placing it in the desk, which he 
locked, said as he got oflf the stool and put the bunch of keys 
in his pocket — 

“ I suppose there is nothing else which need detain us, Mr. 
Pickwick ?” 

“Nothing else, my dear Sir I” observed that warm-hearted 
person, in indignant amazement. “Nothing else I Have you 
no opinion to express on this momentous event in our young 
friend’s life ; no assurance to convey to him, through me, of the 
continuance of your affection and protection; nothing to say 
which will cheer and sustain him, and the anxious girl who 
looks to him for comfort and support? My dear Sir, con- 
sider. ” 

“ I will consider,” replied the old gentleman. “ I have 
nothing to say just now. I am a man of business, Mr. Pick- 
wick ; I never commit myself hastily in any affair, and from 
what I see of this I by no means like the appearance of it. A 
thousand pounds is not much, Mr. Pickwick.” 

“ You’re very right, Sir,” interposed Ben Allen, just awake 
enough to know that he had spent his thousand pounds without 
the smallest difficulty. “ You’re an intelligent man ; Bob, he’s 
a very knowing fellow this.” 

“ I am very happy to find that you do me the justice to make 
the admission. Sir,” said Mr. Winkle, senior, looking con- 
temptuously at Ben Allen, who was shaking his head pro- 
foundly. “ The fact is, Mr. Pickwick, that when I gave my son 
a roving license for a year or so, to see something of men and 
manners (which he has done under your auspices,) so that he 
might not enter into life a mere boarding-school milksop to be 


786 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


galled by everybody, I never bargained for this. He knows 
that very well, so if 1 withdraw my countenance from him on 
this account, he has no call to be surprised. He shall hear 
from me, Mr. Pickwick. Good night, Sir. Margaret, open the 
door.” 

All this time Bob Sawyer had been nudging Mr. Ben Allen 
to say something on the right side ; and Ben accordingly now 
burst out, without the slightest preliminary notice, into a brief 
but impassioned piece of eloquence. 

Sir,” said Mr. Ben Allen, staring at the old gentleman 
through a pair of very dim and languid eyes, and working his 
right arm vehemently up and down, “you — you ought to be 
ashamed of yourself.” 

“As the lady’s brother, of course you are an excellent judge 
of the question,” retorted Mr. Winkle, senior. “ There ; that’s 
enough. Pray say no more, Mr. Pickwick. Good night, gen- 
tlemen.” 

With these words the old gentleman took up the candlestick, 
and opening the room door, politely motioned towards the 
passage. 

“ You will regret this. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, setting his 
teeth close together to keep down his choler ; for he felt how 
important the elfort might prove to his young friend. 

“ I am at present of a different opinion,” calmly replied Mr. 
Winkle, senior. “ Once again, gentlemen, I wish you a good 
night.” 

Mr. Pickwick walked with angry strides into the street. Mr. 
Bob Sawyer, completely quelled by the decision of the old gen- 
tleman’s manner, took the same course ; Mr. Ben Allen’s hat 
rolled down the steps immediately afterwards, and Mr. Ben 
Allen’s body followed it directly The whole party w'ent silent 
and supperless to bed ; and Mr. Pickwick thought, just before 
he fell asleep, that if he had known Mr. Winkle, senior, had 
been quite so much of a man of business, it was extremely 
probable he might never have waited upon him, on such an 
errand. 


CHiPTER LIL 


IN WHICH MR, PICKWICK ENCOUNTERS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE, 
TO W'HICH FORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCE THE READER IS MAINLT 
INDEBTED FOR MATTER OF THRILLING INTEREST HEREIN SET 
DOWN, CONCERNING TWO GREAT PUBLIC MEN OF MIGHT AND 
POWER. 

The morning which broke upon Mr. Pickwick’s sight at eight 
o’clock was not at all calculated to elevate his spirits, or to 
lessen the depression which the unlooked-for result of his em- 
bassy inspired. The sky was dark and gloomy, the air damp 
and raw, the streets wet and sloppy. The smoke hung slug- 
gishly above the chimney-tops, as if it lacked the courage to 
rise, and the rain came slowly and doggedly down, as if it had 
not even the spirit to pour. A game-cock in the stable-yard, 
deprived of every spark of his accustomed animation, balanced 
himself dismally on one leg in a corner : and a donkey, moping 
with drooping head under the narrow roof of an outhouse, 
appeared from his meditative and miserable countenance to be 
contemplating suicide. In the street, umbrellas were the only 
things to be seen, and the clicking of pattens and splashing of 
rain-drops, the only sounds to be heard. 

The breakfast was interrupted by very little conversation ; 
even Mr. Bob Sawyer felt the influence of the weather, and the 
previous day’s excitement. In his own most expressive lan- 
guage, he was “ floored.” So was Mr. Ben Allen, So was 
Mr. Pickwick. 

In protracted expectation of the weather clearing up, the last 
evening paper from London was read and re-read with an 
intensity of interest only known in cases of extreme destitution ; 
every inch of the carpet was walked over with similar persever- 
ance, the windows were looked out of often enough to justify 
the imposition of an additional duty upon them, all kinds ot 
topics of conversation were started and failed ; and at length 

asi) 


788 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


Mr. Pickwick, when noon had arrived without a change for the 
better, rang the bell resolutely and ordered out the chaise. 

Although the roads were miry and the drizzling ram came 
down harder than it had done yet, and although the mud and 
wet splashed in at the open windows of the carriage to such an 
extent that the discomfort was almost as great to the pair of 
insides as to the pair of outsides, still there was something in 
the very notion, and the sense of being up and doing which was 
so infinitely superior to being pent in a dull room, looking at 
the dull rain dripping into a dull street, that they all agreed on 
starting, that the change was a great improvement and wondered 
how they could possibly have delayed making it as long as they 
had done. 

When they stopped to change at Coventry, the«team ascended 
from the horse in such clouds as wholly to obscure the hostler, 
whose voice was however heard to declare from the mist, that 
he expected the first Gold Medal from the Humane Society on 
their next distribution of rewards, for taking the postboy’s hat 
off; the water descending from the brim of which, the invisible 
gentleman declared, must inevitably have drowned him (the 
postboy), but for his great presence of mind in tearing it 
promptly from his head, and drying the gasping man’s counten- 
ance with a wisp of straw. 

“ This is pleasant,” said Bob Sawyer, turning up his coat 
collar, and pulling the shawl over his mouth to concentrate the 
fumes of a glass of brandy just swallowed. 

“ Wery,” replied Sam, composedly. 

" You don’t seem to mind it,” observed Bob. 

“ Vy, I don’t exactly see no good my mindin’ on it ’ud do. Sir,” 
replied Sam. 

“That’s an unanswerable reason, anyhow,” said Bob. 

“Yes, Sir,” rejoined Mr. Weller. “ Wotever is, is right, as 
the young nobleman sveetly remarked ven they put him down in 
the pension list ’cos his mother’s uncle’s vife’s grandfather vunce 
lit the king’s pipe with a portable tinder box.” 

“ Not a bad notion that, Sam,” said Mr. Bob Saw'yer, ap- 
provingly. 

“Just wot the young nobleman said ev’ry quarter-day arter- 
wards foi the re^t of his life,” replied Mr Weller. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


789 


“Wos you ever called in,” enquired Sam, glancing at the 
driver, after a short silence, and lowering his voice to a mys- 
terious whisper, “ wos you ever called in, ven you wos ’prentico 
to a sawbones, to wisit a postboy ?” 

“ I don’t remember that I ever was,” replied Bob Sawyer. 

“ You never see a postboy in that ’ere hospital as you walked 
(as they says o’ the ghosts), did you ?” demanded Sam, 

“ No,” replied Bob Sawyer, “ I don’t think I ever did.” 

Never know’d a churchyard vere there wos a postboy’s 
tombstone, or see a dead postboy, did you ?” enquired Sam, 
pursuing his catechism. 

“ No,” rejoined Bob, “I never did.” 

“Nol” rejoined Sam, triumphantly, “Nor never vill ; and 
there’s another thing that no man never see, and that’s a dead 
donkey — no man never see a dead donkey, ’ceptthe gen’lm’n in 
the black silk smalls as know’d the young ’ooman as kept a goat ; 
and that wos a French donkey, so wery likely he warn’t vun o’ 
the reg’lar breed.” 

“ Well, what has that got to do with the postboys ?” asked 
Bob Sawyer 

“ This here,” replied Sam. “ Yithout goin’ so far as to 
as-sert, as some wery sensible people do, that postboys and 
donkeys is both immortal, wot I say is this ; that venever they 
feels theirselves gettin’ stiff and past their work, they just rides 
off together, vun postboy to a pair, in the usual vay ; wot 
becomes on ’em nobody knows, but it’s wery probable as they 
starts avay to take their pleasure in some other vorld, for there 
ain’t a man alive as ever see either a donkey or a postboy a 
takin’ his pleasure in this I” 

Expatiating upon this learned and remarkable theory, and 
citing many curious statistical, and other facts in its support, 
Sam Weller beguiled the time until they reached Dnnchurch, 
where a dry postboy and fresh horses were procured ; the next 
stage was Daventry, and the next Towcester ; and at the end 
of each stage it rained harder than it had down at the begin- 
iiing. 

“ I say,” remonstrated Bob Sawyer, looking in at the coach 
window, as they pulled up before the door of the Saracen’s 
Head, Towcester, “this won’t do, you know.” 


790 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ Bless me I” said Mr. Pickwick, just awakening from a nap, 
** I’m afraid you are wet.” 

“ Oh you are, are you ?” returned Bob. “ Yes, I am, a little 
that way — uncomfortably damp, perhaps.” 

Bob did look dampish, inasmuch as the rain was streaming 
from his neck, elbows, cuffs, skirts, and knees ; and his whole 
apparel shone so with the wet, that it might have been mistaken 
for a full suit of prepared oilskin. 

“ I am rather wet,” said Bob, giving himself a shake, and 
casting a little hydraulic shower around in so doing, like a New- 
foundland dog just emerged from the water. 

“ I think it’s quite impossible to go on to-night,” interposed 
Ben. 

“ Out of the question. Sir,” remarked Sam Weller, coming to 
assist in the conference ; “ it’s cruelty to animals. Sir, to ask 
’em to do it. There’s beds here. Sir,” said Sam, addressing 
his master, “everything clean and comfortable. Wery good 
little dinner. Sir, they can get ready in half an hour — pair of 
fowls, Sir, and a weal cutlet ; French beans, ’tatars, tart, and 
tidiness. Yqp’d better stop vere you are. Sir, if I might recom- 
mend. Take adwice. Sir, as the doctor said.” 

The host of the Saracen’s Head opportunely appeared at 
this moment, to confirm Mr. Weller’s statement relative to the 
accommodations of the establishment, and to back his entreaties 
with a variety of dismal conjectures regarding the state of the 
roads, the doubt of fresh horses being to be had at the next 
stage, the dead certainty of its raining all night, the equally 
mortal certainty of its clearing up in the morning, and other 
topics of inducement familiar to innkeepers. 

“Well,” said Mr. Pickwick, “but I must send a letter to 
London by some conveyance, so that it may be delivered the 
very first thing in the morning, or I must go forward at all 
hazards.” 

The landlord smiled his delight. Nothing could be easier 
than for the gentleman to inclose a letter in a sheet of brown 
paper and send it on either by the mail or the night coach from 
Birmingham. If the gentleman was particularly anxious to 
have it left as soon as possible, he might write outside, “ To be 
delivered immediately,” which was sure to be attended to ; op 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 791 

** pay the bearer half-a-crown extra for instant delivery,” which 
was surer still. 

“Very well,” said Mr. Pickwick, “then we will stop here.” 

“Lights in the Sun, John; make up the fire — the gentlemen 
are wet,” cried the landlord. “ This way, gentlemen ; ddnT 
trouble yourself about the postboy now, Sir ; I’ll send him to 
you when you ring for him. Sir. Now John, the candles.” 

The candles were brought, the fire was stirred up, and a 
fresh log of wood thrown on. In ten minutes’ time a waiter 
was laying the cloth for dinner, the curtains were drawn, the 
fire was blazing brightly, and every thing looked (as every 
thing always does in all decent English inns) as if the tra- 
velers had been expected and their comforts prepared for days 
beforehand. 

Mr. Pickwick sat down at a side table and hastily indited a 
note to Mr. Winkle, merely informing him that he was detained 
by stress of weather, but would certainly be in London next 
day ; until when he deferred any further account of his pro- 
ceedings. This note was hastily made up into a parcel and 
despatched to the bar per Mr. Samuel Weller. 

Sam left it with the landlady, and was returning to pull his 
master’s boots oft, after drying himself by the kitchen fire, when, 
glancing casually through a half-opened door, he was arrested 
by the sight of a gentleman with a sandy head who had a large 
bundle of newspapers lying on the table before him, and was 
perusing the leading article of one with a settled sneer which 
curled up his nose and all his other features into a majestic 
expression of haughty contempt. 

“ Hallo I” said Sam, “ I ought to know that ’ere head and 
them features ; the eye-glass, too, and the broad-brimmed tile I 
Eatansvill to vit, or I’m a Roman.” 

Sam was taken with a troublesome cough at once, for the 
purpose of attracting the gentleman’s attention ; and the gen- 
tleman starting at the sound, raised his head and his eye-glass, 
and disclosed to view the profound and thoughtful features of 
Mr. Pott, of the Eatanswill Gazette. 

“J5cggin’ your pardon. Sir,” said Sain, advancing with a 
bow, “my master’s here, Mr. Pott” 

« Hush, hush I” cried Mr. Pott, drawing Sam into the room, 


792 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


and closing the door, with a countenance of mysterious dread 
and apprehension. 

“Wot’s the matter, Sir?” inquired Sam, looking vacantly 
about him. 

“Not a whisper of my name,” replied Pott — “this is a buff 
neighborhood. If the excited and irritable populace knew I 
was here, I should be torn to pieces.” 

“No! vould you, Sir?” inquired Sam. 

“I should be the victim of their fury,” replied Pott. “Now, 
young man, what of your master ?” 

“ He’s a stoppin’ here to-night on his vay to town, vith a 
couple of friends,” replied Sam. 

“ Is Mr. Winkle one of them ?” inquired Pott, with a slight 
frown. 

“No, Sir; Mr. Yinkle stops at home now,” rejoined Sam. 
“ He’s married.” 

“Married!” exclaimed Pott, with frightful vehemence. He 
stopped, smiled darkly, and added, in a low, vindictive tone, 
“ It serves him right 1” 

Having given vent to this cruel ebullition of deadly malice 
and cold-blooded triumph over a fallen enemy, Mr. Pott in- 
quired whether Mr. Pickwick’s friends were “blue receiving 
a most satisfactory answer in the affirmative from Sam, who 
knew as much about the matter as Pott himself, he consented 
to accompany him to Mr. Pickwick’s room, where a hearty 
welcome awaited him, and an agreement to club their dinners 
together was at once made and ratified. 

“And how are matters going on in Eatanswill ?” inquired 
Mr. Pickwick, when Pott had taken a seat near the fire, and 
the whole party had got their wet boots off, and dry slippers 
on. “ Is the Independent still in being ?” 

“The Independent, Sir,” replied Pott, “is still dragging on 
a wretched and lingering career, abhorred and despised by 
even the few who are cognizant of its miserable and disgraceful 
existence ; stifled by the very filth it so profusely scatters ; 
rendered deaf and blind by the exhalations of its own slime, the 
obscene journal, happily unconscious of its degraded state, is 
rapidly sinking ben( ath that treacherous mud which, while it 
seems to give it a firm standing with the low and debased 


THE FICKWICK PAPERS. 


classes of society, is, nevertheless, rising above its detested 
head, and will speedily engulf it for ever.” 

Having delivered this manifesto (which formed a portion of 
his last week’s leader) with vehement articulation, the editor 
paused to take breath, and looked majestically at Bob Sawyer. 

“ You are a young man. Sir,” said Pott. 

Mr. Bob Sawyer nodded. 

“ So are you, Sir,” said Pott, addressing Mr. Ben Allen. 

Ben admitted the soft impeachment. 

“ And are both deeply imbued with those blue principles, 
which so long as I live, I have pledged myself to the people 
of these kingdoms to support and to maintain?” suggested 
Pott. 

“ Why, I don’t exactly know about that,” replied Bob Saw- 
yer, “ I am — ” 

“ Not buff, Mr. Pickwick,” interrupted Pott, drawing back 
his chair, “your friend is not buff. Sir.” 

“No, no,” rejoined Bob, “I’m a kind of plaid at present; a 
compound of all sorts of colors.” 

“A wavcrer,” said Pott solemnly, “a waverer. I should 
like to show you a series of eight articles. Sir, that have ap- 
peared in the Eatanswill Gazette. I think I may venture to 
say that you would not be long in establishing your opinions 
on a firm and solid basis. Sir.” 

“I dare say I should turn very blue, long before I got to 
the end of them,” responded Bob. 

Mr. Pott looked dubiously at Bob Sawyer for some seconds, 
and, turning to Mr. Pickwick, said — 

“ You have seen the literary articles which have appeared at 
intervals in the Eatanswill Gazette in the course of the last 
three months, and which have excited such general — I may say 
such universal attention and admiration ?” 

“ Why,” replied Mr. Pickwick, slightly embarrassed by the 
question, “the fact is, I have been so much engaged in other 
ways, that I really have not had an opportunity of perusing 
them.” 

“You should do so. Sir,” said Pott, with a severe coun- 
tenance. 

** I will,” said Mr. Pickwick. 


794 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** They appeared in the form of a copious review of a work 
on Chinese metaphysics, Sir,” said Pott. 

^‘Oh,” observed Mr. Pickwick — “from your pen 1 hope?” 

“From the pen of my critic, Sir,” rejoined Pott, with 
dignity. 

“ An abstruse subj’ect I should conceive,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

“ Very, Sir,” responded Pott, looking intensely sage. “He 
crammed for it, to use a technical but expressive term; ho 
read up for the subject, at my desire, in the Encyclopoedia 
Britannica.^' 

“ Indeed I” said Mr. Pickwick ; “ I was not aware that that 
valuable work contained any information respecting Chinese 
metaphysics.” 

“ He read. Sir,” rejoined Pott, laying his hand on Mr. Pick- 
wick’s knee, and looking round with a smile of intellectual 
superiority, “ he read for metaphysics under the letter M, and 
for China under the letter C ; and combined his information. 
Sir!” 

Mr. Pott’s features assumed so much additional grandeur at 
the recollection of the power and research displayed in the 
learned effusions in question, that some minutes elapsed before 
Mr. Pickwick felt emboldened to renew the conversation; at 
length, as the editor’s countenance gradually relapsed into its 
customary expression of moral supremacy, he ventured to 
resume the discourse by asking — 

“ Is it fair to inquire what great object has brought you so 
far from home ?” 

“That object which actuates and animates me in all my 
gigantic labors, Sir,” replied Pott, with a calm smile — “ray 
country’s good.” 

“I supposed it was some public mission,” observed Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“ Yes, Sir,” resumed Pott, “it is.” Here, bending tow'arda 
Mr. Pickwick, he whispered, in a deep, hollow yoice, “ A buff 
ball Sir, will take place in Birmingham to-morrow evening.” 

“God bless mel” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 

“Yes, Sir, and supper,” added Pott 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 795 

‘*Tou don’t say so !” ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. 

Pott nodded portentously. 

Now, although Mr. Pickwick feigned to stand aghast at this 
disclosure, he was so little versed in local politics that he was 
unable to form an adequate comprehension of the importance 
of the dire conspiracy it referred to ; observing which, Mr. Pott, 
drawing forth the last number of the Eatanswill Gazette, and 
referring to the same, delivered himself of the following 
paragraph : — 

“ Hole-and-Corner Puffery. 

“A reptile contemporary has recently sweltered forth his 
black venom in the vain and hopeless attempt of sullying the 
fair name of our distinguished and excellent representative, the 
Honorable Mr. Slumkey — that Slumkey whom we, long before 
he •gained his present noble and exalted position, predicted 
would one day be, as he now is, at once his country’s brightest 
honor, and her proudest boast : alike her bold defender and her 
honest pride — our reptile contemporary, we say, has made him- 
self merry at the expense of a superbly embossed plated coal- 
scuttle, which has been presented to that glorious man by his 
enraptured constituents, and towards the purchase of which, the 
nameless wretch insinuates, the Honorable Mr. Slumkey himself 
contributed, through a confidential friend of his butler’s, more 
than three-fourths of the whole sum subscribed. Why, does 
not the crawling creature see that even if this be the fact, the 
Honorable Mr. Slumkey only appears in a still more amiable 
and radiant light than before, if that be possible ? does not even 
his obtuseness perceive that this amiable and touching desire 
to carry out the wishes of the constituent body must for ever 
endear him to the hearts and souls of such of his fellow towns- 
men as are not worse than swine ; or, in other words, who are 
not as debased as our contemporary himself? But such is the 
wretched trickery of hole-and-corner Puffery 1 These are not 
sts only artifices. Treason is abroad. We boldly state, now 
that we are goaded to the disclosure, and we throw ourselves 
on the country and its constables for protection : — we boldly 
state tnat secret preparations are at this moment in progress 
for a Buff ball, which is to be held in a Buff town, in the veiy 


796 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


heart and centre of a Buflf population ; which is to be conducted 
by a Buflf master of the ceremonies ; which is to be attended by 
four ultra Buflf members of parliament, and the admission to 
which is to be by Buflf tickets I Does our fiendish contempo- 
rary wince ? Let him writhe in impotent malice as we pen the 
words, We will be there.” 

“ There, Sir,” said Pott, folding up the paper quite exhausted 
" that is the state of the case.” 

The landlord and waiter entering at the moment with dinner, 
caused Mr. Pott to lay his finger on his lips in token that he 
considered his life in Mr. Pickwick’s hands, and depended on 
his secrecy. Messrs. Bob Sawyer and Benjamin Allen, who haa 
irreverently fallen asleep during the reading of the quotation 
from the Eatanswill Gazette and the discussion which followed 
it, were roused by the mere whispering of the talismanic word 
“Dinner,” in their ears; and to dinner they went with good 
digestion waiting on appetite, and health on both, and a waiter 
upon all three. 

In the course of the dinner and the sitting which succeeded 
it, Mr. Pott descended for a few moments to domestic topics, 
informed Mr. Pickwick that the air of Eatanswill not agreeing 
with his lady, she was then engaged in making a tour of different 
fashionable watering places with a view to the recovery of her 
wonted health and spirits ; this was a delicate veiling of the fact 
that Mrs. Pott, acting upon her often repeated threat of sepa- 
ration, had, in virtue of an arrangment negotiated by her brother, 
the lieutenant, and concluded by Mr. Pott, permanently retired 
with the faithful body-guard upon one moiety or half-part of the 
annual income and profits arising from the editorship and sale 
of the Eatanswill Gazette. 

While the great Mr. Pott was dwelling upon this and other 
matters, enlivening the conversation from time to time with 
various extracts from his own lucubrations, a stern stranger, 
calling from the window of a stage-coach, outward bound, 
which halted at the inn to deliver packages, requested to know 
whetlier if he stopped short on his journey and remained there 
for the night he could be furnished with the necessary accomo- 
dation of a bed and bedstead. 

J* Certainly, sir,” replied the landlord. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


797 


“ I can, can I ?” inquired the stranger, who seemed habitually 
snspicious in look and manner. 

No doubt of it. Sir,” replied the landlord. * 

“ Good,” said the stranger. “ Coachman, I get down here. 
Guard ray carpet-bag.” 

Bidding the other passengers good night in a rather snappish 
manner, tlie stranger alighted. He was a shortish gentleman, 
with very stiff black hair, cut in the porcupine or blacking-brush 
style, and standing stiff and straight all over his head ; his as- 
pect was pompous aid threatening ; his manner was peremptory ; 
his eyes sharp and restless ; and his whole bearing bespoke a 
feeling of great confidence in himself, and a consciousness of 
immeasurable superiority over all other people. 

This gentleman was shown into the room originally assigned 
to the patriotic Mr. Pott ; and the waiter remarked, in dumb 
astonishment at the singular coincidence, that he had no sooner 
lighted the candles than the gentleman, diving into his hat, 
drew forth a newspaper, and began to read it with the very 
same expression of indignant scorn which upon the majestic, 
features of Pott had paralized his energies an hour before. The 
man observed too, that whereas Mr. Pott’s scorn had been 
roused by a newspaper headed The Eatanswill Independent 
this gentleman’s withering contempt was awakened by a news 
paper entitled The Eatanswill Gazette. 

“ Send the landlord,” said the stranger. 

Yes, Sir,” rejoined the waiter. 

The landlord was sent, and came. 

“ Are you the landlord ?” inquired the gentleman. 

“ I am. Sir,” replied the landlord. 

‘‘ Do you know me ?” demanded the gentleman. 

“ I have not that pleasure. Sir,” rejoined the landlord. 

“ My name is Slurk,” said the gentleman. 

The landlord slightly inclined his head. 

Slurk, Sir,” repeated the gentleman, haughtily. “ Do yon 


know me now, man ?” 

The landlord scratched his head, looked at the eeili 
at the stranger, and smiled feebly. 

“ Do you know me, man ?” inquired the stranger, an 



m 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


The landlord made a strong effort, and at length replied, 
’‘Well, Sir, I do not know you.” 

“ Good God I” said the stranger, dashing his clenched fist 
upon the table. “ And this is popularity I” 

The landlord took a step or two towards the door, and the 
stranger fixing his eyes upon him, resumed. 

“This,” said the stranger, “this is gratitude for years of 
labor and study in behalf of the masses. I alight wet and 
weary; no enthusiastic crowds press forward to greet their 
champion, the church-bells are silent ; the very name elicits no 
responsive feeling in their torpid bosoms. It is enough,” said 
the agitated Mr. Slurk, pacing to and fro, “ to curdle the ink 
in one’s pen, and induce one to abandon their cause for ever.” 

“ Did you say brandy and water. Sir ?” said the landlord, 
venturing a hint. 

“ Rum,” said Mr. Slurk, turning fiercely upon him. “ Have 
you got a fire anywhere ?” 

“ We can light one directly. Sir,” said the landlord. 

“ Which will throw out no heat till it is bed time,” inter- 
rupted Mr. Slurk. “ Is there anybody in the kitchen ?” 

Not a soul. There was a beautiful fire. Everybody had 
gone, and the door was closed for the night. 

“I will drink my rum and water,” said Mr. Slurk, “by the 
kitchen fire.” So gathering up his hat and newspaper, he 
stalked solemnly behind the landlord to that humble apartment, 
and throwing himself on a settle by the fireside, resumed his 
countenance of scorn, and began to read and drink in silent 
dignity. 

Now some demon of discord, flying over the Saracen’s Head 
at that moment, on casting down his eyes in mere idle curiosity, 
happened to behold Slurk established comfortably by the kitchen 
fire, and Pott slightly elevated with wine in another room ; 
upon which the malicious demon darting down into the last- 
mentioned apartment with inconceivable rapidity, passed at 
once into the head of Mr. Bob Sawyer, and prompted him for 
his (the demon’s) own evil purpose to speak as follows. 

“ I say, we’ve let the fire out. Its uncommonly cold after 
the rain, isn’t it ?” 

“ It really is,” replied Mr. Pickwick, shivering. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


m 


** It wouldn’t be a bad notion to have a cigar by the kitchen 
fire, would it said Bob Sawyer, still prompted by the demon 
aforesaid. 

“ It would be particularly comfortable, I think,” replied Mr. 
Pickwick. “ Mr. Pott, what do you say ?” 

Mr. Pott yielded a ready assent ; and all four travelers, 
each with his glass in his hand, at once betook themselves to 
the kitchen, with Sam Weller heading the procession to show 
them the way. 

The stranger was still reading ; he looked up and started. 
Mr. Pott started. 

“What’s the matter?” whispered Mr. Pickwick. 

“ That reptile !” replied Pott. 

“What reptile ?” said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him for 
fear he should tread on some overgrown black beetle or drop- 
sical spider. 

“ That reptile,” whispered Pott, catching Mr. Pickwick by 
the arm, and pointing towards the stranger. “ That reptile — 
Slurk, of the Independent I” 

“ Perhaps we had better retire,” whispered Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Never, Sir,” rejoined Pott, — pot-valiant in a double sense 
—“never.” With these words, Mr. Pott took up his position 
ou an opposite settle, and selecting one from a little bundle of 
newspapers, began to read against his enemy. 

Pott, of course, read the Independent, and Mr. Slurk, of 
course, read the Gazette ; and each gentleman audibly expressed 
his contempt of the other’s compositions by bitter laughs 
and sarcastic sniffs ; whence they proceeded to more open 
expressions of opinion, such as “absurd,” — “wretched,” — 
“ atrocity,” — “ humbug,” — “ knavery,” — “ dirt,” — “ filth,” — 

slime,” “ditch-water,” and other critical remarks of the 

like nature. 

Both Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Ben Allen had beheld these 
symptoms of rivalry and hatred with a degree of delight, which 
imparted great additional relish to the cigars at which they 
were puffing most vigorously. The moment they began to flag, 
the mischievous Mr. Boh Sawyer, addressing Slurk with great 
politeness, said — 

51 


600 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“Will you allow me to look at your paper, Sir, when yon 
have quite done with it ?” 

“You’ll find very little to repay you for your trouble in this 
contemptible thing, Sir,” replied Slurk, bestowing a Satanic 
frown on Pott. 

“You shall have this presently,” said Pott, looking up, pale 
with rage, and quivering in his speech from the same cause. 
“ Ha ! ha I you will be amused with this fellow's audacity ” 

Terrific emphasis was laid upon “thing” and “fellow;” and 
the faces of both editors began to glow with defiance. 

“ The ribaldry of this miserable man is despicably disgust- 
ing,” said Pott, pretending to address Bob Sawyer, and scowl- 
ing upon Slurk. 

Here Mr. Slurk laughed very heartily, and folding the paper 
so as to get at a fresh column conveniently, said, that the 
blockhead really amused him. 

“ What an impudent blunderer this fellow is,” said Pott, 
turning from pink to crimson. 

“ Did you ever read any of this man’s foolery, Sir ?” inquired 
Slurk, of Bob Sawyer. 

“ Never,” replied Bob ; “ is it very bad ?” 

“ Oh, shocking I shocking 1” rejoined Slurk. 

“Really, dear me, this is too atrocious I” exclaimed Pott, at 
this juncture ; still feigning to be absorbed in his reading. 

“ If you can wade through a few sentences of malice, mean- 
ness, falsehood, perjury, treachery, and cant,” said Slurk, hand- 
ing the paper to Bob, “ you will, perhaps, be somewhat repaid 
by a laugh at the style of this ungrammatical twaddler.” 

“What’s that you said. Sir?” inquired Pott, looking up, 
trembling all over with passion. 

“ What’s that to you. Sir ?” replied Slurk. 

“ Ungrammatical twaddler, was it. Sir ?” said Pott. 

Yes, Sir, it was,” replied Slurk; “and blue bore, Sir, if 
you like that better ; ha I ha I” 

Mr. Pott retorted not a word to this jocose insult, but deli 
berately folding up his copy of the Independent, flattened it 
carefully down, crushed it beneath his foot, spat upon it with 
great ceremony, and flung it into the fire. 

“There, Sir,” said Pott, retreating from the stove, “and 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


that’s the way I would serve the viper who produces it, if I 
not, fortunately for him, restrained by the laws of my country. 

“ Serve him so, Sir I” cried Slurk, starting up ; “those laws 
shall never be appealed to by him. Sir, in such a case. Sjerve 
him so. Sir I” 

“ Hear 1 hear I” said Bob Sawyer. 

“^^othing can be fairer,” observed Mr. Ben Allen. 

“ Serve him so. Sir 1” reiterated Slurk, in a loud voice. 

Mr. Pott darted a look of contempt, which might have 
withered an anchor. 

“ Serve him so. Sir I” reiterated Slurk, in a louder voice than 
before. 

“I will not. Sir rejoined Pott. 

“ Oh, you won’t I won’t you. Sir ?” said Mr. Slurk in a 
taunting manner ; “ you hear this gentlemen I He won’t ; not 
that he’s afraid ; oh, no I he won’t. Ha I ha !” 

“ I consider you, Sir,” said Mr. Pott, moved by this sarcasm, 
“ I consider you a viper. I look upon you. Sir, as a man who 
has placed himself beyond the pale of society, by his most auda- 
cious, disgraceful, and abominable public conduct. I view you, 
Sir, personally or politically, in no other light but as a most 
unparalleled and unmitigated viper.” 

The indignant Independent did not wait to hear the end o 
this personal denunciation, for catching up his carpet-ba;. 
which was well stuffed with movables, he swung it in the 
as Pott turned away, and letting it fall with a circular swe,^ir 
on his head just at that particular angle of the bag wher^ 
good thick hair-brush happened to be packed, caused a shar^ 
crash to be heard throughout the kitchen, and brought him at 
once to the ground. 

“ Gentlemen,” cried Mr. Pickwick, as Pott started up and 
seized the fire-shovel, “ gentlemen, consider for Heaven’s sake— 
jielp Sam — ^here — pray, gentlemen — interfere, somebody.” , 

Uttering these incoherent exclamations, Mr. Pickwick rushed 
between the infuriated combatants just in time to receive tli^ 
carpet bag on one side of his body, and the fire-shovel on the 
other; whether the representatives of the public feeling o^" 
Eatanswill were blinded by animosity, or, being both 
reasoners, saw the advantage of having a third 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


them to bear all the blows, certain it is that they paid not the 
3Hg:htest attention to Mr. Pickwick, but defying each other 
with great spirit, plied the carpet-bag and the fire-shovel most 
fearfessly. Mr. Pickwick would most unquestionably have 
mffered severely from his humane interference, if Mr. Weller,, 
ittracted by his master’s cries, had not rushed in at the moment 
Hid, snatching up a meal-sack, effectually stopped the conflict 
jy dra^ving it over the head and shoulders of the mighty Pott, 
Iftd clasping him tight round the elbows. 

“ Take avay that ’ere bag from the t’other madman,” said 
Slam to Ben Allen and Bob Sawyer, who had done nothing but 
lodge round the group, each witli a tortoise-shell lancet in his 
land, ready to bleed the first man stunned. “ Give it up, you 
vretched little creetur, or I’ll smother you in it.” 

Awed by these threats, and quite out of breath, the Inde- 
pendent suffered himself to be disarmed ; and Mr. Weller, 
eraoving the extinguisher from Pott, set him free with a 
•aution. 

You take yourselves off to bed quietly,” said Sam, “or I’ll 
put you both in it, and let you fight it out vith the mouth tied, 
is I vould a dozen sich, if they played these games. And you 
lave the goodness to come this here vay. Sir, if you please.” 

Thus addressing his master, Sam took him by the arm and 
d him off, while the rival editors were severally removed to 
eir beds by the landlord, under the inspection of Mr. Bob 
"^Wyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen ; breathing as they went away, 
any sanguinary threats, and making vague appointments for 
jortal combat next day. When they came to think it over, 
however, it occurred to them that they could do it much better 
in print, so they recommenced deadly hostilities without delay ; 
and all Eatanswill rung with their boldness — on paper. 

They had taken themselves off in separate coaches, early 
uext morning, before the other travelers were stirring ; and the 
weather having now cleared up, the chaise companions onco 
marc turned their faces to London. 


CHAPTER LITI. 


INVOLVING A SERIOUS CHitNGE IN THE WELLER FAMILY, ANU 

THE UNTIMELY DOWNFALL OF THE RED-NOSED MR. STIGGINS, 

Considering it a matter of delicacy to abstain from intro- 
ducing either Bob Sawyer or Ben Allen to the young couple, 
until they were fully prepared to expect them ; and wishing to 
spare Arabella’s feelings as much as possible, Mr. Pickwick 
proposed that he and Sam should alight in the neighborhood 
of the George and Vulture, and that the two young men should 
for the present take up their quarters elsewhere ; to this they 
very readily agreed, and the proposition was accordingly acted 
upon: Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer betaking them- 
selves to a sequestered pot-shop on the remotest confines of the 
Borough, behind the bar-door of which their names had in other 
days very often appeared, at the head of long and complex cal- 
culations worked in white chalk. 

'‘Dear me, Mr. Weller,” said the pretty housemaid, meeting 
Sam at the door. 

“Dear me I vish it wos, my dear,” replied Sam, dropping 
behind, to let his master get out of hearing. “Wot a sweet 
lookin’ creetur you are, Mary I” 

“ Lor’, Mr. Weller, what nonsense you do talk 1” said Mary 
“Oh I don't, Mr. Weller.” 

“ Don’t what, my dear ?” said Sam. 

“ Why, that,” replied the pretty housemaid. “ Lor’, do get 
along with you.” Thus admonishing him, the pretty house- 
maid smilingly pushed Sam against the wall, declaring that be 
had tumbled her cap, and put her hair quite out of curl. 

“ And prevented what I was going to say, besides,” added 
Mary. “ There’s a letter been waiting here for you four days ; 
you hadn’t been gone away half an hour when it came; and 
more than that, it’s got, immediate, on the outside.” 

“ Vere is it, my love ?” inquired Sam. 


( 803 ) 


604 


THB PICKWICK PAPERS. 


I took care of it for you, or I dare say it would hare been 
lost long before this,” replied Mary. “ There, take it ; it’s more 
than you deserve.” 

With these words, after many pretty little coquettish doubts 
and fears, and wishes that she might not have lost it, Mary 
produced the letter from behind the nicest little muslin tucker 
possible, and handed it to Sam, who thereupon kissed it with 
much gallantry and devotion. 

“ My goodness me 1” said Mary, adjusting the tucker, and 
feigning unconsciousness, “ you seem to have grown very fond 
of it all at once.” 

To this Mr. Weller only replied by a wink, the intense mean- 
ing of which no description could convey the faintest idea of ; 
and, setting himself down beside Mary on a window-seat, opened 
the letter and glanced at the contents. 

“ Hallo I” exclaimed Sam, “ wot’s all this ?” 

“Nothing the matter, I hope ?” said Mary, peeping over his 
shoulder. 

“ Bless them eyes o’ youm,” said Sam, looking up. 

* Never mind ray eyes ; you had. much better read your letter,” 
said the pretty housemaid, and as she said this, she made the 
eyes twinkle with such slyness and beauty that they were per- 
fectly irresistible. 

Sam refreshed himself with a kiss, and read as follows 

“ Markis Gran 
“ By darken 
“ Wens". 

“ My dear Sammle, 

“ I am wery sorry to have the pleasure of bein a Bear 
of ill news your Mother in law cort cold consekens of impru- 
dently settin too long on the damp grass in the rain a hearin 
of a shepherd who warnt able to leave off till late at night owen 
to his havin vound his-self up vith brandy and vater and not 
being able to stop his-self till he got a little sober which took 
a many hours to do the doctor says that if she’d svallo’d varm 
brandy and vater artervards insted of afore she mightn’t have 
been no vus her veels wos immedetly greased and every think 
done to set her a goin as could be inwented your farther had 


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805 


hopes as she vould have vorked round as usual but just as she 
wos a tumen the corner my boy she took the wrong road and 
vent down hill vith a welocity you never see and notvithstandin 
that the drag was put on drectly by the medikel man it wornt 
of no use at all for she paid the last pike at tventy minutes afore 
six o’clock yesterday evenin havin done the jouney wery much 
under the reglar time vich praps was partly owen to her haven 
taken in wery. little luggage by the vay your father says that if 
you vill come and see me Sammy he vill take it as a wery great 
favor for I am wery lonely Samivel N. B he vill have it spelt 
that vay vich I say ant right and as there is sich a many things 
to settle he is sure your guvner wont object of course he vill not 
Sammy for I knows him better so he sends his dooty in vhich 
I join and am Samivel infernally yours 

Tony Teller.” 

^*Wot a incomprehensible letter,” said Sam; who’s to 
know wot it means vith all this he-ing and I-ingl It ain’t 
my father’s wi’itin’ ’cept this here signater in print letters; 
that’s his.” 

‘‘ Perhaps he got somebody to write it for him, and signed it 
himself afterwards,” said the pretty housemaid. 

“ Stop a minit,” replied Sam, running over the letter again, 
and pausing here and there to reflect as he did so. “ You’ve 
hit it. The gen’l’m’n as wrote it, wos a tollin’ all about the 
misfortun’ in a proper vay, and then my father comes a lookin’ 
over him, and complicates the whole concern by puttin’ his oar 
in. That’s just the wery sort o’ thing he’d do. You’re right, 
Mary, my dear.” 

Having satisfied himself upon this point, Sam read the letter 
all over, once more, and, appearing to form a clear notion of its 
contents for the first time, ejaculated thoughtfully, as he folded 
it up ; — 

‘And so the poor creature’s dead I I’m sorry for it. She 
warn’t a bad-disposed ’ooman if them shepherds had let her alone. 
I’m wery sorry for it.” 

Mr. Weller uttered these words in so serious a manner, that 
the pretty housemaid cast down her eyes and looked veiy 
grave. 


306 


THE PICKWICK PAPEES. 


Howsoever,” said Sam, putting the letter in his pocket, 
with a gentle sigh, “ it vvos to be — and wos, as the old lady 
said arter she’d married the footman, can’t be helped now, can 
it, Mary ?” 

Mary shook her head, and sighed too. 

“ I must apply to the hemperor for leave of absence,” said 
Sam. 

Mary sighed again, — the letter was so very affecting. 

“ Good-by I’ said Sam. 

“ Good-by,” rejoined the pretty housemaid, turning her head 
away. 

“Well, shake hands, won’t you ?” said Sam. 

The pretty housemaid put out a hand which, although it was 
a housemaid’s, was a very small one, and rose to go. 

“ I sha’n’t be w'ery long avay,” said Sam. 

“You’re always away,” said Mary, giving her head the 
slightest possible toss in the air. “ You no sooner come, Mr. 
"Weller, than you go again.” 

Mr. Weller drew tlie household beauty closer to him, and 
entered upon a whispering conversation, which had not pro- 
ceeded far when she turned her face round and condescended 
to look at him again. When they parted it was somehow or 
other indispensably necessary for her to go to her room, and 
arrange the cap and curls before she could think of presenting 
herself to her mistress ; which preparatory ceremony she went 
off to perform, bestowing many nods and smiles on Sam over 
the banisters as she tripped up stairs. 

“ I sha’n’t be avay more than a day, — or two. Sir, at farthest,” 
said Sam, when he had communicated to Mr. Pickwick the in 
telligence of his father’s loss. 

“ As long as may be necessary, Sam,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 
“You have my full permission to remain.” 

• Sam bowed. 

“You will tell your father, Sam, that if I can be of any 
assistance to him in his present situation, I shall be most 
willing and ready to lend him any aid in my power,” said Mr. 
Pickwick. 

“Thank’ee, Sir,” rejoined Sam. “ I’ll mention it, Sir.” 


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807 


And with some expressions of mutual good-will and interest, 
master and man separated. 

It was just seven o’clock when Samuel Weller, alighting 
from the box of a stage-coach which passed through Dorking, 
stood within a few hundred yards of the Marquis of Granby. 
It was a cold dull evening ; the little street looked dreary and 
dismal, and the mahogany countenance of the noble and gallant 
Marquis seemed to wear a more sad and melancholy expression 
than it was wont to do, as it swung to and fro, creaking mourn- 
fully in the wind. The blinds were pulled down, and the 
shutters partly closed ; of the knot of loungers that usually 
collected about the door, not one was to be seen ; the place was 
silent and desolate. 

Seeing nobody of whom he could ask any preliminary ques- 
tions, Sam walked softly in, and glancing round, he quickly 
recognized his parent in the distance. 

The widower was seated at a small round table in the little 
room behind the bar, smoking a pipe, with his eyes intently 
fixed upon the fire. The funeral had evidently taken place that 
day, for attached to his hat, which he still retained on his head, 
was a hat-band measuring about a yard and a half in length, 
which hung over the top rail of the chair and streamed negli- 
gently down. Mr. Weller was in a very abstracted and con- 
templative mood, for notwithstanding that Sam called him by 
name several times, he still continued to smoke with the same 
fixed and quiet countenance, and was only roused ultimately by 
his son’s placing the palm of his hand on his shoulder. 

Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, “you’re velcome.” 

“ I’ve been a callin’ to you half a dozen times,” said Sam, 
hanging his hat on a peg, “but you didn’t hear me.” 

“No, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller, again looking thoughtfully 
at the fire. “ I wos in a referee, Sammy.” 

“Wot about?” inquired Sam, drawing his chair up to the 
fire. 

“In a referee, Sammy,” replied the elder Mr. Weller, “re- 
gardin’ her, Samivel.” Here Mr. Weller jerked bis head in the 
direction of Dorking church-yard, in mute explanation that hia 
words referred to the late Mrs. Weller. 

“I wos a thinkin’, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, eyeing his son 


806 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


with great earnestness, over his pipe, as if to assure him that 
however extraordinary and incredible the declaration might 
appear, it was nevertheless calmly and deliberately ittered, “ 1 
wos a thinkiu’, Sammy, that upon the whole I wos wery sorry 
she wos gone.” 

“ Yell, and so you ought to be,” replied Sara. 

Mr. Weller nodded his acquiescence in the sentiment, and 
again fastening his eyes on the fire, shrouded himself in a cloud, 
and mused deeply. 

“ Those wos wery sensible observations as she made, Sammy,” 
said Mr. Weller, driving the smoke away with his hand, after a 
long silence. 

“ Wot observations ?” inquired Sara. 

“Them as she made arter she was took ill,” replied the old 
gentleman. 

“ Wot was they ?” 

“Somethin’ to this here effect. ^Yeller,’ she says, ‘I’m 
afeard I’ve not done by you quite wot I ought to have done ; 
you’re a wery kind-hearted man, and I might ha’ made your home 
more comfortabler. I begin to see now,’ she says, ‘ven it’s too 
late, that if a married ’ooman vishes to be religious she should 
begin vith dischargin’ her dooties at home, and raakin’ them as 
is about her cheerful and happy, and that vile she goes to church, 
or chapel, or wot not, at all proper times, she should be wery 
careful not to con-wert this sort o’ thing into an excuse for idle- 
ness or self-indulgence, or vurse. I have done this,’ she says, 
‘ and I’ve vasted time and substance on them as has done it 
more than me; but I hope ven I’m gone. Teller, that you’ll 
think on me as I wos afore I know’d them people, and as I raly 
wos by natur.’ ‘ Susan,’ says I, — I wos took up very short by 
this, Saraivel ; I von’t deny it, my boy — ‘ Susan,’ I says, ‘ you’ve 
been a wery good vife to me, altogether; don’t say nothin’ at all 
about it ; keep a good heart, my dear, and you’ll live to see me 
puncli that ’ere Stiggins’s head yet.’ She smiled at this, 
Samivel,” said the old gentleman, stifling a sigh with his pipe, 
“ but she died arter all I” 

“ Yell,” said Sara, venturing to offer a little homely consola- 
tion, after the lapse of three or four minutes, consumed by the 
old gentleman in slowly shaking Vis head from side to side, and 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


800 


solemnly smoking ; “ veil, gov^ner, ve must all come to it, one 
day or another.” 

“ So we must, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, the elder. 

“ There’s a Providence in it all,” said Sara. 

“ O’ course there is,” replied his father, with a nod of grave 
approval. “AVot’ud become of the undertakers vithout ii» 
Sammy ?” 

Lost in the immense field of conjecture opened by this reflec- 
tion, the elder Mr. Weller laid his pipe on the table, and stirred 
the fire with a meditative visage. Ht 

While the old gentleman was thus engaged, a very buxom- 
looking cook, dressed in mourning, who had been bustling about 
in the bar, glided into the room, and bestowing many smirks of 
recognition upon Sara, silently stationed herself at the back of 
his father’s chair, and announced her presence by a slight cough, 
the which being disregarded, was followed by a louder one. 

“ Hallo I” said the elder Mr. Weller, dropping the poker as 
he looked round, and hastily drew his chair away. “ Wot’s the 
matter now ?” 

“ Have a cup of tea, there’s a good soul,” replied the buxom 
female, coaxingly. 

“I von’t,” replied Mr. Weller, in a somewhat boisterous man- 
ner, “ ril see you — ” Mr. Weller hastily checked himself, and 
added in a low tone, “furder fust.” 

“Oh, dear, dear; how adversity does change people I” said 
the lady, looking upwards. 

. “ It’s the only thing ’twi.xt this and the doctor as shall change 
my condition,” muttered Mr. Weller. 

“ I really never saw a man so cross,” said the buxom female. 

“ Never mind — it’s all for my own good ; vich is the reflection 
j vith wich the penitent schoolboy comforted his feelin’s ven they 
i flogged him,” rejoined the old gentleman, 
j The buxom female shook her head with a compassionate and 
sympathizing air ; and, appealing to Sara, inquired whether his 
failnn* really ought not to make an eflTort to keep up, and not 
give way to that lowness of spirits. 

“ Vou see, Mr. Samuel,” said the buxom female, “ as I was 
tilling him yesterday, he tvill feel lonely, he can’t expect but 
what he should. Sir, but he should keep up a good heart, be* 


810 


THE PICKWICK PAPEBS. 


cause, dear me, I^m sure we all pity his loss, and are ready to do 
any thing for him ; and there’s no situation in life so bad, Mr. 
Samuel, that it can’t be mended, which is what a very worthy 
person said to me when my husband died.” Here the speaker, 
putting her hand before her mouth, coughed again, and looked 
affectionately at the elder Mr. Weller. 

“As I don’t rekvire any o’ your conversation just now. Mum, 
vill you have the goodness to re-tire ?” inquired Mr. Weller in 
a grave and steady voice. 

“Well, Mr. Weller,” said the buxom female, “I’m sure I only 
spoke to you out of kindness.” 

“ Wery likely, Mum,” replied Mr. Weller. “ Samivel, show 
the lady out, and shut the door arter her.” 

This hint was not lost upon the buxom female, for she at once 
left the room, and slammed the door behind her, upon which 
Mr. Weller, senior, falling back in his chair in a violent perspi- 
ration, said — 

“ Sammy, if I wos to stop here alone vun veek — only vun 
veek, my boy — that ’ere ’ooihan ’ud marry me by force and 
wiolence afore it was over. ” 

“ Wot, is she so wery fond on you ?” inquired Sam. 

“ Fond 1” replied his father, “ I can’t keep her avay from me. 
If I was locked up in a fire-proof chest with a patent Brahmin, 
she’d find means to get at me, Sammy.” 

“ Wot a thing it is to be so sought arter!” observed Sam, 
smiling. 

“ I don’t take no pride out on it, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller, 
poking the fire vehemently ; “ it’s a horrid sitiwation. I’m ac- 
tiwally drove out o’ house and home by it. The breath was 
scarcely out o’ your poor mother-in-law’s body, ven vun old 
’ooman sends me a pot o’ jam, and another a pot o’ jelly, and 
another brews a blessed large jug o’ camomile tea, vich 
she brings in vith her own hands.” Mr. Weller paused with 
an aspect of intense disgust, and, looking round, added in a 
whisper, “ They wos all widders, Sammy, all on ’em, ’cept the 
camomile-tea vun, as wos a single young lady o’ fifty-three.” 

Sam gave a cortical look in reply, and the old gentleman 
having broken an jbstinate lump of coal, with a countenance 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


811 


expressive of as much earnestness and malice as if it had been 
the head of one of the widows last-mentioned, said — 

“ In short, Sammy, I feel that I ain’t safe anyveres but on thQ 
box.” 

“ IIow are you safer there, than anyveres else ?” interrupted 
Sam. 

“ ’Cos a coachman’s a privileged indiwidual,” replied Mr. 
Weller, looking fixedly at his son. “ ’Cos a coachman may do 
vithout suspicion wot other men may not ; ’cos a coachman may 
be on the very amicablest terms with eighty mile o’ females, 
and yet nobody think that he ever means to marry any vun 
among ’em. And wot other man can say the same, Sammy ?” 

“Veil, there’s somethin’ in that,” said Sam. 

“ If your gov’ner had been a coachman,” reasoned Mr. Weller, 
“do you s’pose as that ’ere jury ’ud ever ha’ conwicted him, 
s’posin’ it possible as the matter could ha’ gone to that ex- 
tremity ? They dustn’t ha’ done it.” 

“ Wy not ?” said Sam, rather disparagingly. 

“Vy not I” rejoined Mr. Weller; “’cos it ’ud ha’ gone agin 
their consciences. A reg’lar coachman’s a sort o’ con-nectin’ 
link betvixt singleness and matrimony, and every practicable 
man knows it.” 

“Wot you mean, they’re gen’ral fav’rites, and nobody takes 
ad wantage on ’em, p’raps ?” said Sam. 

His father nodded. 

“ How it ever come to that ’ere pass,” resumed the parent 
Weller, “I can’t say; vy it is that long-stage coachmen pos- 
sess such insiniwations, and is alvays looked up to — a-dored 
I may say — by ev’ry young ’ooman in ev’ry town he vurks 
through, I don’t know ; I only know that so it is ; it’s a reg’la- 
tion of natur — a dispensary, as your poor mother-in-law used 
to say.” 

“ A dispensation,” said Sam, correcting the old gentleman. 

“ Wery good, Samivel, a dispensation, if you like it better,” 
returned Mr. Weller ; “ I call it a dispensary, and it’s alvays writ 
up so, at the places vere they gives you physic for nothin’ in 
your own bottles ; that’s all.” 

With these v ords Mr. Weller re-filled and re-lighted his pipe, 


812 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


and once more summoning up a meditative expression of coun- 
tenance, continued, as follows : — 

“ Therefore, my boy, as I do not see the adwisability o’ stop- 
pin’ here to be married vether I vant to or not, and as at the 
same time I do not vish to separate myself from them interestin’ 
members o’ society altogether, I have come to the determina- 
tion o’ drivin’ the Safety, and puttin’ up vunce more at the Bell 
Savage, vich is my nat’ral-born element, Sammy.” 

“ And wot’s to become o’ the bis’ness inquired Sam. 

The bis’ness, Samivel,” replied the old gentleman, “ good- 
vill, stock, and fixters, vill be sold by private con-tact ; and out 
o’ the money, two hundred pound, agreeable to a rekvest o’ 
your mother-in-law’s to me, a little afore she died, vill be 
inwested in your name in — wot do you call them things again ?” 

“Wot things ?” inquired Sam. 

“ Them things as is always a goin’ up and down in the City.” 

“ Omnibuses ?” suggested Sam. 

“Nohsense,” replied Mr. Weller. “Them things as is al- 
vays a fluctooatin’, and gettin’ theirselves inwolved somehow or 
another vith the national debt, and the checquers bills, and all 
that.” 

“ Oh ! the funds,” said Sam. 

“Ah 1” rejoined Mr. Weller, “the funs; two hundred pound 
o’ the money is to be inwested for you, Samivel, in the funs ; 
four and a half per cent, reduced counsels, Sammy.” 

“ Wery kind o’ the old lady to think o’ me,” said Sam, “and 
I’m wery much obliged to her.” 

“The rest vill be inwested in my name,” continued the 
elder Mr. Weller; “and ven I’m took off the road, it’ll 
come to you, so take care you don’t spend it all at vunst, my 
boy, and mind that no widder gets a iiiklin’ o’ your fortun’, or 
you’re done.” 

Having delivered this warning, Mr. Weller resumed his pipe 
with a more serene countenance; the disclosure of these matters 
appearing to have eased his mind considerably. 

“ Somebody’s a tappin’ at the door,” said Sam. 

“ Let ’em tap,” replied his father, with dignity. 

Sam acted upon the direction: upon which there was an- 


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81 » 


•other tap, and another, and then a long row of raps; npon 
which Sam inquired why the tapper was not admitted. 

“ Hush,” whispered Mr. Weller, with apprehensive looks ; 

don’t take no notice on ’em, Sammy, it’s vuii o’ the widders, 

p’rapvS.” 

No notice being taken of the taps, the unseen visitor, after 
a short lapse, ventured to open the door and peep in. It was 
no female head that was thrust in at the partially opened door, 
but the long black locks and red face of Mr. Stiggins. Mr. 
Weller’s pipe fell from bis hands. 

The reverend gentleman gradually opened .the door by almost 
imperceptible degrees, until the aperture was just wide enough 
to admit of the passage of his lank body, when he glided into 
the room and closed it after him with great care and gentleness. 
Turning towards Sam, and raising his hands and eyes, in token 
of the unspeakable sorrow with which he regarded the calamity 
that had befallen the family, he carried the high-backed chair to 
his old corner by the fire, and setting himself down oh the very 
edge of the seat, drew forth a brown pocket-handkerchief, and 
applied the same to his optics. 

While this was going forward, the elder Mr. Weller sat back 
in his chair with his eyes wide open, his hands planted on his 
knees, and his whole countenance expressive of absorbing and 
overwhelming astonishment. Sam sat opposite to him in per- 
fect silence, waiting with eager curiosity for the termination of 
the scene. 

Mr. Stiggins kept the brown pocket-handkerchief before his 
eyes for some minutes, moaning decently meanwhile, and then, 
mastering his feelings by a strong effort, put it in his pocket and 
buttoned it up. After this he stirred the fire; after that he 
rubbed his hands and looked at Sam. 

“Oh my young friend,” said Mr. Stiggins, breaking the 
gileiice in a very low voice, “here’s a sorrowful affliction.” 

Sam nodded very slightly. 

“ For the man of wrath, too I” added Mr. Stiggins ; “ it makes 
a vessel’s heart bleed I” 

Mr. Weller was overheard by his son to murmur something 
relative to making a vessi I’s nose bleed ; but Mr. Stiggins 
heard him not. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


S14 

*‘ Do you know, young man,” whispered Mr. Stiggins, draw- 
ing his chair closer to Sam, “ whether she has left Emanuel any 
thing 

“ Who’s he ?” inquired Sam. 

“ The chapel,” replied Mr. Stiggins ; “our chapel ; our fold 
Mr Samuel.” 

“ She hasn’t left the fold nothin’, nor the shepherd nothin’, 
nor the animals nothin’,” said Sam, decisively ; “ nor the dogs 
neither.” 

Mr. Stiggins looked slyly at Sam, glanced at the old gentle- 
man, who was sitting with his eyes closed, as if asleep ; and 
drawing his chair still nearer, said, 

“ Nothing for me, Mr. Samuel ?” 

Sam shook his head. 

“ I think there’s something,” said Stiggins, turning as pale as 
he could turn. “ Consider, Mr. Samuel ; no little token ?” 

“Not so much as the vurth o’ that ’ere old umberella o’ 
yourn,” replied Sam. 

“ Perhaps,” said Mr. Stiggins, hesitatingly, after a few mo- 
ments’ deep thought, “perhaps she recommended me to the care 
of the man of wrath, Mr. Samuel ?” 

“I think that’s wery likely, from what he said,” rejoined Sam; 
“he wos a speakin, about you, jist now.” 

“Was he, though?” exclaimed Stiggins, brightening up. 
“Ah! he’s changed, I dare say. We might live very comforta- 
bly together now, Mr. Samuel, eh ? I could take care of his pro- 
perty when you are away — good care, you see.” 

Heaving a long-drawn sigh, Mr. Stiggins paused for a re- 
sponse. Sam nodded, and Mr. Weller, the elder, gave vent to 
an extraordinary sound, which, being neither a groan, nor a 
grunt, nor a gasp, nor a growl, seemed to partake in some degree 
of tlie character of all four. 

Mr. Stiggins, encouraged by this sound, which he understoof 
to betoken remorse or repentance, looked about him, rubbed hi 
hands, wept, smiled, wept again, and then, walking softly acros. 
the room to a well-remembered shelf in one corner, took down a 
tumbler, and, with great deliberation, put four lumps of sugar in 
it. Having got thus far, he looked about him again and sighed 
grievously ; with that he walked softly into the bar, and pro- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


816 


seiitly returning with the tumbler half full of pine-apple rum, 
advanced to the kettle which was singing gayly on the hob, mixed 
his grog, stirred it, sipped it, sat down, and taking a long and 
hearty pull at the rum and water, stopped for breath. 

The elder Mr. Weller, who still continued to make various 
strange and uncouth attempts to appear asleep, offered not a 
single word during these proceedings, but when Mr. Stiggins 
stopped for breath, he darted upon him, and snatching the tum- 
bler from his hand, threw the remainder of the rum and water in 
his face, and the glass itself into the grate. Then, seizing the 
reverend gentleman firmly by the collar, he suddenly fell to kick- 
ing him most furiously, accompanying every application of his 
top-boot to Mr. Stiggins’s person with sundry violent and in- 
coherent anathemas upon his limbs, eyes, and body. 

“ Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, “put my hat on tight for me.” 

Sam dutifully adjusted the hat with the long hat-band more 
firmly on his father’s head, and the old gentleman, resuming his 
kicking with greater agility than before, tumbled with Mr. 
Stiggins through the bar, and through the passage, out at the 
front door, and so into the street ; — the kicking continuing the 
whole way, and increasing in vehemence, rather than diminishing, 
every time the top-boot was lifted up. 

It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight to see the red-nosed 
man writhing in Mr. Weller’s grasp, and his whole frame quiver- 
ing with anguish as kick followed kick in rapid succession ; it 
was a still more exciting spectacle to behold Mr. Weller, after 
a powerful struggle, immersing Mr. Stiggins’s head in a horse- 
trough full of water, and holding it there, till he was all but 
suffocated. 

“There,” said Mr. Weller, throwing all his energy into one 
most complicated kick, as he at length permitted Mr. Stiggins 
to withdraw his head from the trough, “ send any vun o’ them 
lazy shepherds here, and I’ll pound him to a jelly first, and 
drownd him artervards. Sammy, help me in, and fill me a small 
glass of brandy. I’m out o’ breath, my boy.” 


52 


CHAPTER LIT. 


GOMPRISINQ THE FINAL EXIT OP MR. JINGLE AND JOB TROTTER ; 

WITH A GREAT MORNING OF BUSINESS IN GRATIS INN SQUARE 

CONCLUDING "WITH A DOUBLE KNOCK AT MR. PERKER’S DOOR. 

When Arabella, after some gentle preparation, and many 
assurances that there was not the least occasion for being low- 
spirited, was at length made acquainted by Mr; Pickwick with 
the unsatisfactory result of his visit to Birmingham, she burst 
into tears, and sobbing aloud, lamented in moving terms that 
she should have been the unhappy cause of any estrangement 
between a father and his son. 

My dear girl,” said Mr. Pickwick, kindly, it is no fault of 
yours. It was impossible to foresee that the old gentleman 
would be so strongly prepossessed against his son’s marriage, 
you know. I am sure,” added Mr. Pickwick, glancing at her 
pretty face, “ he can have very little idea of the pleasure he 
denies himself.” 

“ Oh my dear Mr. Pickwick,” said Arabella, “ what shall we 
do, if he continues to be angry with us ?” 

“ Why, wait patiently, my dear, until he thinks better of it,” 
replied Mr. Pickwick, cheerfully. 

But, dear Mr. Pickwick, what is to become of Nathaniel if 
his father withdraws his assistance ?” urged Arabella. 

“ In that case, my love,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick, “ I will 
venture to prophesy that he will find some other friend who will 
not be backward in helping him to start in the world.” 

The significance of this reply was not so well disguised by 
hlr. Pickwick, but that Arabella understood it. So, throwing 
her arms round his neck, and kissing him affectionately, she 
sobbed louder than before. 

“ Come, come,” said Mr. Pickwick, taking her hand, “ we will 
wait here a few days longer, and see whether he writes or takes 
any other notice of your husband’s communication. If not, I 
( 816 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


817 


have thought of half a dozen plans, any one of which would 
make you happy at once. There, my dear — there.” 

With these words, Mr. Pickwick gently pressed Arabella’s 
hand, and bade her dry her eyes, and not distress her husband. 
Upon which, Arabella, who was one of the best little creatures 
alive, put her handkerchief in her reticule, and by the time Mr. 
Winkle joined them, exhibited in full lustre the same beaming 
smiles and sparkling eyes that had originally captivated him. 

“ This is a distressing predicament for these young people,” 
thought Mr. Pickwick, as he dressed himself next morning. “ I’ll 
walk up to Perker’s, and consult him about the matter.” 

As Mr. Pickwick was further prompted to betake himself to 
Gray’s Inn Square by an anxious desire to come to a pecuniary 
settlement with the kind-hearted little attorney without further 
delay, he made a hurried breakfast, and executed his intention 
so speedily that ten o’clock had not struck when he reached 
Gray’s Inn. 

It still wanted ten minutes to the hour when he had ascended 
the staircase on which Perker’s chambers were. The clerks had 
not arrived yet, and he beguiled the time by looking out of the 
staircase window. 

The healthy light of a fine October morning made even the 
dingy old houses brighten up a little : some of the dusty win- 
dows actually looking almost cheerful as the sun’s rays gleamed 
upon them. Clerk after clerk hastened into the square by one 
or other of the entrances, and looking up at the Hall clock, 
accelerated or decreased his rate of walking according to the 
time at which his office hours nominally commenced ; the half- 
past nine o’clock people suddenly becoming very brisk, and the 
ten o’clock gentlemen falling into a pace of most aristocratic 
slowness. The clock struck ten, and clerks poured in faster 
than ever, each one in a greater perspiration than his predeces- 
sor. The noise of unlocking and opening doors echoed and 
re-echoed on every side, heads appeared as if by magic in every 
window, the porters took up their stations for the day, the slip- 
shod laundresses hurried off, the postman ran from house to house, 
and the whole legal hive was in a bustle. 

“ You’re early, Mr. Pickwick,” said a voice behind him. 


818 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


**Ah, Mr. Lowten,” replied that gentleman, looking ronnd, 
and recognizing his old acquaintance. 

“Precious warm walking, isn’t it?” said Lowten, drawing a 
Bramah key from his pocket, with a small plug therein, to keep 
the dust out. 

“You appear to feel it so,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling 
at the clerk, who was literally red-hot. 

“ I’ve come along, rather, I can tell you,” replied Lowten. 
“It went the half hour as I came through the Polygon. I’m 
here before him, though, so I don’t mind.” 

Comforting himself with this reflection, Mr. Lowten extracted 
the plug from the door key ; having opened the door, replugged 
and repocketed his Bramah, and picked up the letters which the 
postman had dropped through the box, he ushered Mr. Pick- 
wick into the office. Here, in the twinkling of an eye, he 
divested himself of his coat, put on a threadbare garment, 
which he took out of a desk, hung up his hat, pulled forth a few 
theets of cartridge and blotting paper in alternate layers, and 
sticking a pen behind his ear, rubbed his hands with an air of 
great satisfaction. 

“There you see, Mr. Pickwick,” he said, “ now I’m complete. 
I’ve got my office coat on, and my pad out, and let him come 
as soon as he likes. You haven’t got a pinch of snuff about 
you, have you ?” 

“ No, I have not,” replied Mr, Pickwick. 

“I’m sorry for it,” said Lowten. “Never mind — I’ll run 
out presently, and get a bottle of soda. Don’t I look rather 
queer about the eyes, Mr. Pickwick ?” 

The individual appealed to, surveyed Mr. Lowten’s eyes from 
a distance, and expressed his opinion that no unusual queerness 
was perceptible in those features. 

“I’m glad of it,” said Lowten. “We were keeping it up 
pretty toleral)ly at the Stump last night, and I’m rather out 
of sorts this morning. — Perker’s been about that business of 
yours, by the by.” 

“What business?” inquired Mr. Pickwick — “Mrs. Bardell’s 
costs ?” 

“No, I don’t mean that,” replied Lowten. “About getting 
that customer that we paid the ten shillings in the pound to 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


819 


the bill discounter for, on vour account — to get him out of the 
Fleet, you know — about getting him to Demerara.” 

“Oh, Mr. Jingle,-’ said Mr. Pickwick, hastily. “Yes. Well?^> 

“Well, it’s all arranged,” said Lowten, mending his pen. 
“ The agent at Liverpool said he had been obliged to you many 
times when you were in business, and he would be glad to take 
him on your recommendation.” 

“That’s well,” said Mr. Pickwick. “I am delighted to 
hear it. ” 

“ But I saj,” resumed Lowten, scraping the back of the pen pre- 
paratory to making a fresh split, “ what a soft chap that other is 1” 

“ Which other ?” 

“Why, that servant, or friend, or whatever he is — ^you know: 
Trotter. ” 

“Ah?” said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile. “I always thought 
him the very reverse.” 

“Well, and so did I, from what little I saw of him,” replied 
Lowten; “it only shows how one may be deceived. What do 
you think of his going to Demerara, too ?” 

“What! — and giving up what was offered him here I” ex- 
claimed Mr. Pickwick. 

“Treating Perker’s offer of eighteen bob a- week, and a rise 
if he behaved himself, like dirt,” replied Lowten. “He said 
he must go along with the other one, and so they persuaded 
Perker to write again, and they’ve got him something on the 
same estate; not near so good, Perker says, as a convict would 
get in New South Wales, if he appeared at his trial in a new 
suit of clothes.” 

“Foolish fellow,” said Mr. Pickwick, with glistening eyes. 
“Foolish fellow.” 

“ Oh, it’s worse than foolish ; it’s downright sneaking, you 
know,” replied Lowten, nibbing the pen with a contemptuous 
face. “He says that he’s the only friend he ever had, and 
he’s attached to him, and all that. Friendship’s a very good 
thing in its way; we are all very friendly and comfortable 
at the Stump, for instance, over our grog, where every man pays 
for himself, but damn hurting yourself for anybody else, you 
know I No man should have more than two attachments — 
the first, to number one, and the second to the ladies ; that’s 


820 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


what I say — ha I ha!” Mr. Lowten concluded with a loud 
laugh, half in jocularity, and half in derision, which was pre- 
maturely cut short by the sound of Perker’s footsteps on the 
stairs, at the very first approach of which he vaulted on his 
stool with an agility most remarkable, and wrote intensely. 

The greeting between Mr. Pickwick and his professional 
adviser was warm and cordial; the client was scarcely ensconced 
in the attorney’s arm chair, however, when a knock was heard 
at the door, and a voice inquired whether Mr. Perker was 
within. 

“Hark I” said Perker, “that’s one of our vagabond friends — 
Jingle himself, my dear Sir. Will you see him ?” 

“What do you think?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, hesitating. 

“Yes, I think you had better. Here, you sir, what’s your 
name, walk in, will you ?” 

In compliance with this unceremonious invitation, Jingle and 
Job walked into the room, but, seeing Mr. Pickwick, stopped 
short in some confusion. 

“Well,” said Perker, “don’t you know that gentleman?” 

“Good reason to,” replied Jingle, stepping forward. “Mr. 
Pickwick — deepest obligations — life preserver — made a man of 
me — you shall never repent it. Sir.” 

“ I am happy to hear you say so,” said Mr. Pickwick. “You 
look much better.” 

“Thanks to you. Sir — great change — majesty’s fleet — un- 
wholesome place — very,” said Jingle, shaking his head. He 
was decently and cleanly dressed, and so was Job, who stood 
bolt upright behind him, staring at Mr. Pickwick with a visage 
of iron. 

“ When do they go to Liverpool ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, 
half aside to Perker. 

“This evening, Sir, at seven o’clock,” said Job, taking one 
step forward. “By the heavy coach from the city. Sir.” 

“Are your places taken?” 

“They are. Sir,” replied Job. 

“You have fully made up your mind to go?” 

“I have. Sir,” answered Job. 

“With regard to such an outfit as was indispensable for 
Jingle,” said Perker, addressing Mr. Pickwick aloud, “I have 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


821 

taken upon myself to make an arrangement for the deduction 
of a small sum from his quarterly salary, which, being made for 
only one year, and regularly remitted, will provide for that 
expense. I entirely disapprove of your doing any thing for him, 
my dear Sir, which is not dependent on his own exertions and 
good conduct.” 

“Certainly,” interposed Jingle, with great firmness. “Clear 
head — man of the world — quite right — perfectly.” 

“By compounding with his creditor, releasing his clothes from 
the pawnbroker’s, relieving him in prison, and paying for his 
passage,” continued Perker, without noticing Jingle’s observa- 
tion, “you have already lost upwards of fifty pounds.” 

“Not lost,” said Jingle, hastily. “Pay it all — stick to busi- 
ness — cash up — every farthing. Yellow fever, perhaps — can’t 
help that — if not — ” Here Mr. Jingle paused, and striking the 
crown of his hat with great violence, passed his hand over his 
eyes, and sat down. 

“ He means to say,” said Job, advancing a few paces, “that 
if he is not carried off by the fever, he will pay the money back 
again. If he lives, he will, Mr. Pickwick. I will see it done. 
I know he will. Sir,” said Job, with great energy. “I could 
undertake to swear it.” 

“ Well, well,” said Mr. Pickwick, who had been bestowing 
a score or two of frowns upon Perker, to stop his summary 
of benefits conferred, which the little attorney obstinately dis- 
regarded, “you must be careful not to play any more desperate 
cricket matches, Mr. Jingle, or to nenew your acquaintance 
with Sir Thomas Blazo, and I have little doubt of your pre- 
serving your health.” 

Mr. Jingle smiled at this sally, but looked rather foolish 
notwithstanding, so Mr. Pickwick changed tlie subject by 
saying — 

“ You don’t happen to know, do you, what has become of 
another friend of yours — a more humble one, whom I saw at 
Rochester ?” 

“ Dismal Jemmy ?” inquired Jingle. 

“ Yes.” 

Jingle shook his head. 


822 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** Clever rascal — queer fellow — hoaxing genius — Job^s 
brother. 

“Job’s brother!” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. “Well, now I 
look at him closely> there is a likeness.” 

“We were always considered like each other, Sir,” said Job, 
with a cunning look just lurking in the corners of his eyes, 
“ only I was really of a serious nature, and he never was. He 
emigrated to America, Sir, in consequence of being too much 
sought after here, to be comfortable ; and has never been heard 
of since.” 

“ That accounts for my not having received the * page from 
the romance of real life,’ which he promised me one morning 
when he appeared to be contemplating suicide on Rochester 
Bridge, I suppose,” said Mr. Pickwick, smiling. “I need not 
inquire whether his dismal behavior was natural or assumed.” 

“He could assume anything. Sir,” said Job. “You may 
consider yourself very fortunate in having escaped him so 
easily. On intimate terms he would have been even a more 
dangerous acquaintance than — ” Job looked at Jingle, hesi- 
tated, and finally added, “than — than — myself even.” 

“ A hopeful family yours, Mr. Trotter,” said Perker, sealing 
a letter which he had just finished writing. 

“Yes, Sir,” replied Job. “ Yery much so.” 

“ Well,” said the little man, laughing ; “ I hope you are going 
to disgrace it. Deliver this letter to the agent w'hen you reach 
Liverpool, and let me advise you, gentlemen, not to be too 
knowing in the West Indies. If you throw away this chance, 
you will both richly deserve to be hanged, as I sincerely trust 
you will be. And now you had better leave Mr. Pickwick 
and me alone, for we have other matters to talk over, and 
time is precious. ” As Perker said this he looked towards the 
door with an evident desire to render the leave-taking as brief 
as possible. 

It was brief enough on Mr. Jingle’s part. He thanked the 
little attorney in a few hurried words for the kindness and promp-» 
titude with which he had rendered his assistance, and, turning 
to his benefactor, stood for a few seconds as if irresolute what 
to say or how to act Job Trotter relieved his perplexity, for 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


823 


with a hnmble, grateful bow to Mr. Pickwick, he took his 
friend gently by the arm, and led him away. 

“A worthy couple,” said Perker, as the door closed behind 
them. 

I hope they may become so,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 
“What do you think? Is there any chance of their permanent 
reformation ?” 

Perker shrugged his shoulders doubtfully, but observing Mr. 
Pickwick^s anxious and disappointed look, rejoined — 

“ Of course there is a chance. I hope it may prove a good 
one. They are unquestionably penitent now; but then, you 
know, they have the recollection of very recent suffering fresh 
upon them. What they may become when that fades away, is 
a problem that neither you nor I can solve. However, my dear 
Sir,” added Perker, laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick’s shoulder, 
“your object is equally honorable, whatever the result is. 
Whether that species of benevolence which is so very cautious 
and long-sighted that it is seldom exercised at all, lest its owner 
should be imposed upon, and so wounded in his self-love, be real 
charity, or a worldly counterfeit, I leave to wiser heads than 
mine to determine. But if those two fellows were to commit 
a burglary to-morrow, my opinion of this action would be equally 
high.” 

With these remarks, which were delivered in a much more 
animated and earnest manner than is usual in legal gentlemen, 
Perker drew his chair to his desk, and listened to Mr. Pick 
wick’s recital of old Mr. Winkle’s obstinacy. 

“ Give him a week,” said Parker, nodding his head propheti- 
cally. 

“ Do you think he will come round ?” inquired Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

“ I think he will,” rejoined Perker. “ If not, we must try the 
young lady’s persuasion; and that is what any body but you 
would have done at first.” 

Mr. Perker was taking a pinch of snuff with various grotesque 
contractions of countenance, eulogistic of the persuasive powers 
appertaining unto young ladies, when the murmur of inquiry 
and answer wap iw outer office, and Lowten tapped at 
the door. 


824 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


*• Come in,” cried the little man. 

The cle^rk came in, and shut the door after him with great 
mystery. 

“ What’s the matter ?” inquired Perker. 

“You’re wanted, Sir.” 

“ Who wants me ?” 

Lowten looked at Mr. Pickwick and coughed. 

“ Who wants me ? Can’t you speak, Mr. Lowten ?” 

“Why, Sir,” replied Lowten, “it’s Mr. Dodson; and Mr 
Fogg is with him.” 

“ Bless my life I” said the little man, looking at his watch, “ I 
appointed them to be here at half-past eleven to settle that 
matter of yours, Pickwick. I gave them an undertaking on 
which they sent down your discharge ; it’s very awkward, my 
dear Sir; what will you do? Would you like to step into the 
next room ?” 

The next room being the identical room in w'hich Messrs. 
Dodson and Fogg were, Mr. Pickwick replied that he would 
remain where he was, the more especially as Messrs. Dodson and 
Fogg ought to be ashamed to look him in the face, instead of 
his being ashamed to see them ; which latter circumstance he 
begged Mr. Perker to note, with a glowing countenance and 
many marks of indignation. 

“ Very well, my dear Sir, very well,” replied Perker, “I can 
only say, that if you expect either Dodson or Fogg to exhibit 
any symptom of shame or confusion at having to look you, or 
any body else, in the face, you are the most sanguine man in 
your expectations that I ever met with. Show them in, Mr. 
Lowten.” 

Mr. Lowten disappeared with a grin, and immediately returned 
ushering in the firm, in due form of precedence — Dodson first, 
and Fogg afterwards. 

“You have seen Mr. Pickwick, I believe?” said Perker to 
Dodson, inclining his pen in the direction where that gentleman 
was seated. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Pickwick ?” said Dodson in a loud 
voice. 

“Dear me,” cried Fogg, “how do you do, Mr. Pickwick? 


THE PICKTnCK PAPERS. 


82 ^ 


I hope you are well, Sir. I thought I knew the face,” said 
Fogg, drawing up a chair and looking round him with a smile. 

Mr. Pickwick bent his head very slightly in answer to these 
salutations, and, seeing Fogg pull a bundle of papers from his 
coat-pocket, rose and walked to the window. 

“ There’s no occasion for Mr. Pickwick to move, Mr. Perker,” 
saic Fogg, untying the red tape which encircled the little bundle, 
and smiling again more sweetly than before. “ Mr. Pickwick 
is pretty well acquainted with these proceedings, there are no 
secrets between us, I think. He! he! he!” 

“Not many, I think,” said Dodson. “Ha! ha! ha!” Then 
both partners laughed together — pleasantly and cheerfully, as 
men who are going to receive money often do. 

“We shall make Mr. Pickwick pay for peeping,” said Fogg 
with considerable native humor, as he unfolded his papers. 
“ The amount of the taxed costs is one hundred and thirty-three, 
six and fourpence, Mr. Perker.” 

There was a great comparing of papers and turning over of 
leaves by Fogg and Perker after this statement of profit and 
loss, during which Dodson said in an affable manner to Mr. 
Pickwick — 

“ I don’t think you are looking quite so stout as when I had 
the pleasure of seeing you last, Mr. Pickwick.” 

“Possibly not, Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick, who had been 
flashing forth looks of fierce indignation without producing the 
sniaiiest effect on either of the sharp practitioners ; “ I believe I 
am not. Sir. I have been persecuted and annoyed by scoundrels 
of late. Sir.” 

Perker coughed violently, and asked Mr. Pickwick whether 
he wouldn’t like to look at the morning paper, to whick inquiry 
Mr. Pickwick returned a most decided negative. 

“ True,” said Dodson, “ I dare say you have been annoyed in 
the Fleet; there are some odd gentry there. Whereabouts 
were your apartments, Mr. Pickwick ?” 

“ My one room,” replied that much-injured gentleman, “ was 
on the Coffee Room flight.” 

“ Oh, indeed !” said Dodson. “ I believe that is a very plea- 
sant part of the establishment.” 

Very,” replied Mr. Pickwick, dryly. 


826 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


There was a coolness about all this, which to a gentleman of 
an excitable temperament had, under the circumstances, rather 
an exasperating tendency. Mr. Pickwick restrained his wrath 
by gigantic efforts, but when Perker wrote a cheque for the 
whole amount, and Fogg deposited it in a small pocket-book, 
with a triumphant smile playing over his pimply features, which 
communicated itself likewise to the stern countenance of Dod- 
son, he felt the blood in his cheeks tingling with indignation. 

“ Now, Mr. Dodson,” said Fogg, putting up the pocket- 
book and drawing on his gloves, “ I am at your service.” 

“ Very good,” said Dodson, rising, “ I am quite ready.” 

“ I am very happy,” said Fogg, softened by the cheque, “to 
have had the pleasure of making Mr. Pickwick’s acquaintance. 
I hope you don’t think quite so badly of us, Mr. Pickwick, as 
when we first had the pleasure of seeing you.” 

“ I hope not,” said Dodson, with the high tone of calumni- 
ated virtue. “Mr. Pickwick now knows us better, I trust; 
whatever your opinion of gentlemen of our profession may be, 
I beg to assure you, Sir, that I bear no ill-will or vindictive 
feeling towards you for the sentiments you thought proper to 
express in our office in Freeman’s Court, Corn Hill, on the oc- 
casion to w'hich my partner has referred.” 

“ Oh no, no ; nor I,” said Fogg, in a most forgiving manner. 

“ Our conduct. Sir,” said Dodson, “ will speak for itself, and 
justify itself, I hope, upon every occasion. We have been in 
the profession some years, Mr. Pickwick, and have been honored 
with the confidence of many excellent clients. I wish you good 
morning, Sir.” 

“ Good morning, Mr. Pickwick,” said Fogg; and so saying, 
he put his umbrella under his arm, drew off his right glove, and 
extended the hand of reconciliation to that most indignant 
gentleman, wffio thereupon thrust his hands beneath his coat 
tails, and eyed the attorney with looks of scornful amazement. 

“ Lowten I” cried Perker, at this moment, “ open the door.” 

“Wait one instant,” said Mr. Pickwick, “Perker, I will 
speak.” 

“ My dear Sir, pray let the matter rest where it is,” said the 
little attorney, who had been in a state of nervous apprehea- 
won during the whole interview ; “ Mr. Pickwick, I beg — ” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


827 


will not be put down, Sir,” replied Mr. Pickwick, hastily. 
*^Mr. Dodson, you have addressed some remarks to me.” 

Dodson turned round, bent his head meekly, and smiled. 

“ Some remarks to me,” repeated Mr. Pickwick, almost 
breathless, “and your partner has tendered me his hand, and 
you have both assumed a tone of forgiveness and high-minded- 
ncss, which is an extent of impudence, that I was not prepared 
for, even in you.” 

“What, Sir I” exclaimed Dodson. 

“What, Sir!” reiterated Fogg. 

“ Do you know that I have been the victim of your plots and 
conspiracies ?” continued Mr. Pickwick. “ Do you know that 
I am the man whom you have been imprisoning and robbing ? 
Do you know that you were the attorneys for the plaintiff in 
Bardell and Pickwick ?” 

“ Yes, Sir, we do know it,” replied Dodson. 

Of course we know it. Sir,” rejoined Fogg, slapping his 
pocket — perhaps by accident. 

“ I see that you recollect it with satisfaction,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick, attempting to call up a sneer for the first time in his life, 
and failing most signally in so doing. “ Although I have long 
been anxious to tell you in plain terms what my opinion of you 
is, I should have let even this opportunity pass, in deference to 
my friend Perker’s wishes, but for the unwarrantable tone you 
have assumed, and your insolent familiarity — I say insolent 
familiarity. Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, turning upon Fogg with a 
fierceness of gesture which caused that person to retreat to- 
wards the door with great expedition. 

“ Take care. Sir,” said Dodson, who, although he was the 
biggest man of the party, had prudently intrenched himself 
behind Fogg, and was speaking over his head with a very pale 
face. “ Let him assault you, Mr. Fogg ; don’t return it on 
any account.” 

No, no, I won’t return it,” said Fogg, falling back a little 
more as he spoke ; to the evident relief of his partner, who by 
these means was gradually getting into the outer office. 

“ You are,” continued Mr. Pickwick, resuming the thread of 
his discourse, “ you are a well-matched pair of mean, rascally, 
pettifogging robbers.” 


828 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** Well,” interposed Perker, “ is that all ?” 

** It is ail summed up in that,” rejoined Mr. Pickwicl ) 
** they are mean, rascally, pettifogging robbers.” 

“ There,” said Perker, in a most conciliatory tone, “ my dear 
Sirs, he has said all he has to say : now pray go. Low ten, 
is that door open ?” 

Mr. Lowten, with a distant giggle, replied in the affirmative. 

“ There, there — good morning — good morning — ^now pray, 
my dear Sirs, — Mr. Lowten, the door,” cried the little man, 
pushing Dodson and Fogg, nothing loth, out of the office, 
“ this way, my dear Sirs, — now pray don’t prolong this — dear 
me — Mr. Lowten — the door. Sir, why don’t you attend ?” 

“ If there’s law in England, Sir,” said Dodson, looking 
towards Mr. Pickwick, as he put on his hat, “ you shall smart 
for this.” 

** You are a couple of mean— 

“ Remember, Sir, you pay dearly for this,” said Fogg, shaking 
his fist. 

— Rascally, pettifogging robbers 1” continued Mr. Pick- 
wick, taking not the least notice of the threats that were ad- 
dressed to him. 

“ Robbers 1” cried Mr. Pickwick, running to the stair-head, 
as the two attorneys descended. 

Robbers I” shouted Mr. Pickwick, breaking from Lowten 
and Perker, and thrusting his head out of the staircase window. 

When Mr. Pickwick drew in his head again, his countenance 
was smiling and placid ; and, walking quietly back into the 
office, he declared that he had now removed a great weight 
from his mind, and that he felt perfectly comfortable and happy. 

Perker said nothing at all until he had emptied his snuff-box 
and sent Lowten out to fill it, when he was sewed with a fit of 
laughing, which lasted for five minutes, at the Bxpiration of 
which time he said that he supposed he ought to be very angry, 
but he couldn’t think of the business seriously yet — when ho 
could, he would be. 

“ Well, now,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ let me hav-e a settlement 
with you.” 

“ Of the same kind as the last ?” inquired Perker, with ano- 
ther laugh. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


820 


** Not exactly,’^ rejoined Mr. Pickwick, drawing out his 
pocket-book, and shaking the little man heartily by the hand, 
“ I only mean a pecuniary settlement. You have done me 
many acts of kindness that I can never repay, and have no wish 
to, for I prefer continuing the obligation.” 

With this preface the two friends dived into some very com- 
plicated accounts and vouchers, which having been duly dis- 
played and gone through by Perker, were at once discharged 
by Mr. Pickwick, with many professions of esteem and friend- 
ship. 

They had no sooner arrived at this point, than a most violent 
and startling knocking was heard at the door ; it was not an 
ordinary double knock, but a constant and uninterrupted suc- 
cession of the loudest single raps, as if the knocker were en- 
dowed with the perpetual motion, or the person outside had 
forgotten to leave off. 

“ Dear me, what’s that !” exclaimed Perker, starting. 

“ I think it is a knock at the door,” said Mr. Pickwick, as 
if there could be the smallest doubt of the fact I 

The knocker made a more energetic reply than words could 
have yielded, for it continued to hammer with surprising force 
and noise, without a moment’s cessation. 

“Dear me I” said Perker, ringing his bell, “we shall alarm 
the Inn. — Mr. Lowten, don’t you hear a knock ?” 

“ I’ll answer the door in one moment. Sir,” replied the clerk. 

The knocker appeared to hear the response, and to assert 
that it was quite impossible he could wait so long. It made a 
stupendous uproar. 

“ It’s quite dreadful,” said Mr. Pickwick, stopping his ears. 

“ Make haste, Mr, Lowten,” Perker called out ; “ we shall 
have the panels beaten in.” 

Mr. Lowten, who was washing his hands in a dark closet^ 
hunted to the door, and turning the handle, beheld the appear- 
ance which is described in the next chapter. 


CHAPTER LV. 


OONTAININa SOME PARTICULARS RELATIVE TO THE DOUBLE 

KNOCK, AND OTHER MATTERS, AMONG WHICH CERTAIN INTE- 
RESTING DISCLOSURES RELATIVE TO MR. SNODGRASS AND A 

YOUNG LADY ARE BY NO MEANS IRRELEVANT TO THIS HISTORY. 

The object that presented itself to the eyes of the astonished 
clerk was a boy — a wonderfully fat boy — habited as a serving 
lad, standing upright on the mat, with his eyes closed as if in 
sleep. He had never seen such a fat boy in or out of a travel- 
ing caravan ; and this, coupled with the utter calmness and 
repose of his appearance, so very different from what was rea- 
sonably to have been expected of the inflicter of such knocks, 
smote him with wonder. 

“ What’s the matter ?” inquired the clerk. 

The extraordinary boy replied not a word, but he nodded 
once, and seemed, to the clerk’s imagination, to snore feebly. 

“ Where do you come from ?” inquired the clerk. 

The boy made no sign. He breathed heavily, but in all 
other respects was motionless. 

The clerk repeated the question thrice, and receiving no 
answer, prepared to shut the door, when the boy suddenly 
opened his eyes, winked several times, sneezed once, and raised 
his hand as if to repeat the knocking. Finding the door open, 
he stared about him with great astonishment, and at length 
fixed his eyes on Mr. Lo^vten’s face. 

“ What the devil do you knock in that way for ?” inquired 
the clerk, angrily. 

“ What way ?” said the boy in a slow, sleepy voice. 

“ Why, like forty hackney coachmen,” replied the clerk. 

“ Because master said I wasn’t to leave off knocking till they 
opened the door, for fear I should go to sleep,” said the boy. 

“ Well,” said the clerk, “ what message have you brought 

** He’s down stairs,” rejoined the boy. 

( 830 ) : - 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 631 

“ Master. He wants to know whether you’re at home ” 

Mr. Lowten bethought himself at this juncture of looking out 
of the window. Seeing an open carriage with a hearty old 
gentleman in it, looking up very anxiously, he ventured to 
beckon him, on which the old gentleman jumped out directly. 

“ That’s your master in the carriage, I suppose ?” said 
Lowten. 

The boy nodded. 

All further inquiries were superseded by the appearance of 
old Wardle, who, running up stairs and just recognizing Low* 
ten, passed at once into Mr. Perker’s room. 

“ Pickwick I” said the old gentleman, “ your hand, my boy ; 
why have I never heard till the day before yesterday of your 
suffering yourself to be cooped up in jail ? and why did you let 
him do it, Perker ?” 

“ 1 couldn’t help it, my dear Sir,” replied Perker, with a 
smile and a pinch of snuff’, “ you know how obstinate he is.” 

“ Of course I do, of course 1 do,” replied the old gentleman, 
‘‘ I am heartily glad to see him, notwithstanding. 1 will not 
Jose sight of him again in a hurry.” 

AViih these words, Wardle shook Mr. Pickwick’s hand once 
more, and, having done the same to Perker, threw himself into 
an arm-chair, his jolly red face shining again with smiles and 
health. 

“ Well,” said Wardle, “ here are pr^etty goings on — a pinch 
of your snuff, Perker, my boy — never were such times, eh ?” 

“ What do you mean ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Mean I” replied Wardle, “^'hy, I think the girls are all 
running mad; that’s no news, you’ll say? Perhaps it’s not, 
but it’s true for all that.” 

**You have not come up to London, of all places in the 
world, to tell us that, my dear Sir, have you?” inquired 
Perker. 

“ No, not altogether,” replied Wardle ; “ though it was the 
main cause of my coming. How’s Arabella ?” 

“ Very well,” replied Mr. Pickwick, “ and will be delighted 
to see you. I am sure.” 

“Black-eyed little jilt I” replied Wardle. “I had a great 
53 


882 THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

idea of marrying her myself, one of these odd days. But 1 am 
glad of it too, very glad.” 

“ How did the intelligence reach you ?” asked Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

“ Oh, it came to my girls, of course,” replied Wardle. 
" Arabella wrote the day before yesterday to say she had made 
a stolen match without her husband’s father’s consent, and so 
you had gone down to get it when his refusing it couldn’t pre- 
vent the match, and all the rest of it. I thought it a very good 
time to say something serious to my girls, so I said what a 
dreadful thing it was that children should marry without their 
parents’ consent, and so forth ; but, bless your hearts, I couldn’t 
make the least impression upon them. They thought it such a 
much more dreadful thing that there should have been a wed- 
ding without bridesmaids, that I might as well have preached 
to Joe himself.” 

Here the old gentleman stopped to laugh ; and having done 
so, to his heart’s content, presently resumed. 

“ But this is not the best of it, it seems. This is only half 
the love-making and plotting that have been going forward. 
We have been walking on mines for the last six months, and 
they’re sprung at last.” 

“ What do you mean ?” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, turning 
pale ; “ no other secret marriage, I hope ?” 

“ No, no,” replied old Wardl^ ; “ not so bad as that — no.” 

“ What then ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick ; “ am I interested 
in it ?” 

“ Shall I answer that question, Perker ?” said Wardle. 

“ If you don’t commit yourself by doing so, my dear Sir.” 

” Well, then, you are,” said Wardle. 

“ How?” asked Mr. Pickwick anxiously. “In what way?” 

“ Really,” replied Wardle, “ you’re such a fiery sort of young 
fellow that I am almost afraid to tell you ; but, however, if 
Perker will sit between us to prevent mischief, I’ll venture.” 

Having closed the room door, and fortified himself with an- 
other application to Perker’s snuff-box, the old gentleman pro- 
ceeded with his great disclosure in these words. 

“ The fact is, that my daughter Bella — Bella, that married 
young Trundle, you know.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


m 


“Yes, yes, we know,’^ said Mr. Pickwick impatiently. 

“ Don’t alarm me at the very beginnin,q. My daughter Bella, 
Emily having gone to bed with a headache after slie had read 
Arabella’s letter to me, set herself down by my side the other 
evening, and began to talk over this marriage affair. ‘ Well, pa.^ 
she says, ‘ what do you think of it V ‘ Why, my dear,’ I said, 
‘I suppose it’s all very well : I hope it’s for the best.’ I an- 
swered in this way because I was sitting before the fire at the 
time, drinking my grog rather thoughtfully, and I knew ray 
throwing in an undecided word now and then, would induce her 
to continue talking. Both my girls are ])ictures of their deal 
mother, and as J growth! 1 like to sit with only them by me ; 
for their voices and looks carry me back to the haj)j)iest ])eriod 
of my life, and make me for the moment as young as I used to 
be then, though not quite so light-hearted. ‘It’s quite a mar- 
riage of affection, pa,’ said Bella, after a short silence. ‘Yes, 
my dear,’ said 1, ‘ but such marriages do not always turn out the 
happiest.’ ” 

“ I question that, mind,” interposed Mr. Pickwick warmly. 

“Very good,” responded Wardle, “question anything you 
like when it’s your turn to speak, but don’t interrupt me.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“Granted,” replied Wardle. “ ‘ I am sorry to hear you ex- 
press your opinion against marriages of affection, pa,’ said Bella, 
coloring a little. ‘ I was wrong ; 1 ought not to have said so, 
my dear, either,’ said I, i)atting her cheek as kindly as a rough 
old fellow like me could pat it, ‘ for your mother’s was one, and 
so was yours.’ ‘ It’s not that I meant, pa,’ said Bella. ‘The 
fact is, pa, I wanted to speak to you about Emily.’ ” 

Mr. Pickwick started. 

“What’s the matter now?” inquired Wardle, stopping in his 
narrative. 

“ Nothing,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “ Pray go on.” 

“ I never could spin out a s^ory,” said Wardle abruptly. “ It 
must come out sooner or later, and it’ll save us all a great deal 
of time if it comes at once. The long and the short of it is, then, 
that Bella atjast mustered up courage to tell me that Emily 
was very unhaj)py ; that she and your young friend Snodgrass 
had been in constaut correspondence and communication ever 


884 


THE PICKiVICK PAPERS. 


since last Christmas ; that she had very dutifully made up her 
mind to run away with him, in laudable imitation of her old 
friend and schoolfellow : but that having some compunctions of 
conscience on the subject, inasmuch as I had always been rather 
kindly disposed to both of them, they had thought it better in 
the first instance to pay me the compliment of asking whether I 
would have any objection to their being married in the usual 
matter-of-fact manner. There now, Mr. Pickwick, if you can 
make it convenient to reduce your eyes to their usual size again, 
and to let me hear what you think we ought to do, I shall feel 
rather obliged to you.’’ 

The testy manner in which the hearty old gentleman uttered 
this last sentence was not \vholly unwarranted; for Mr. Pick- 
wick’s face had settled down into an expression of blank amaze- 
ment and perplexity quite curious to behold. 

“ Snodgrass ! — since last Christmas !” were the first broken 
words that issued from the lips of the confounded gentleman. 

“Since last Christmas,” replied Wardle ; “ that’s plain enough, 
and very bad spectacles we must have worn, not to have dis- 
covered it before.” 

“J don’t understand it,” said Mr. Pickwick, ruminating; “I 
really cannot understand it.” 

“It’s easy enough to understand,” replied the choleric old 
gentleman. “ If you had been a younger man, you would have 
been in the secret long ago ; and besides,” added Wardle after 
a moment’s hesitation, “ the truth is, that, knowing nothing of 
this matter, I have rather ))ressed Emily for four or five months 
past to receive favorably (if she could ; I would never attempt 
to force a girl’s inclinations) the addresses of a young gentleman 
down in our neighborhood. I have no doubt that, giri-like, to 
enhance her own value and increase the ardor of Mr. Snodgrass, 
she has represented this matter in very glowing colors, and that 
they have both arrived at the conclusion that they are a terribly 
persecuted pair of unfortunates, and have no resource but clan- 
destine matrimony or charcoal. Now the question is, what’s to 
be done ?” 

“ What have you done ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, 

“II” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


885 


“ T menu what did you do when your mamed daughter told 
you 

Oh, I made a fool of myself, of course,”, rejoined Wardle. 

“Just so,” interposed Perkcr, who had accompanied this 
dialogue with sundry twitchings of his watch-chain, vindictive 
rubbings of his nose, and other symptoms of impatience. 
“ Thai’s very natural ; but how ?” 

“ I went into a great passion and frightened ray mother into 
a fit,” said AVardle. 

“ That was judicious,” remarked Perker ; “ and what else, my 
dear Sir?” 

“ I fretted and fumed all next day, and raised a great dis- 
turbance,” rejoined the old gentleman. “At last I got tired of 
reinb ring myself un})leasant and making every body miserable; 
so I hired a carriage at Mnggleton, and, putting my own horses 
in it, came up to town, under pretence of bringing Emily to see 
Araliellu.” 

“M iss Wardle is with you, then?” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ To be sure she is,” replied Wardle. “ She is at Ovsborne’s 
hotel in the Adelphi at this moment, unless your enterprising 
friend has run away with her since I came out this morning.” 

“ You are reconciled, then ?” said Perker. 

“Not a bit of it,” answered Wardle; “she has been crying 
and moping ever since, except last night, between tea and sup- 
per, when she made a great parade of writing a letter, that I 
pretended to take no notice of.” 

“You want my advice in this matter, I suppose?” said Per- 
ker, looking from the musing face of Mr. Pickwick to the eager 
cojintenance of Wardle, and taking several consecutive pinches 
of his favorite stimulant. 

“ I suppose so,” said Wardle, looking at Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Certainly,” replied that gentleman. 

“Well, then,” said Perker, rising and pushing his chair back, 
“my advice is, that you both walk away together, or ride away, 
or get away by some means or other, for I’m tired of you, and 
just talk this matter over between you. If you have not settled 
it by the next time I see you. I’ll tell you what to do.” 

“*This is satisfactory,” s.aid Wardle, hardly knowing whether 
to smile or be offended. 


m 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“ Pooh, pooh, my dear Sir,” retnrned Perkor, “ T know yon 
both a great deal better than you know yourselves. You have 
settled it already, to all intents and purposes.” 

Thus expressing himself, the little gentleman poked his snuff- 
box, first into the chest of Mr. Pickwick, and then into the waist- 
coat of Mr. Wardle, upon which they all three laughed, but 
especially the two last-named gentlemen, who at once shook 
bands again, without any obvious or particular reason. 

“ You dine with me to-day,” said Wardle to Perker, as bo 
showed them out. 

“ Can’t promise, my dear Sir, can’t promise,” replied Perker. 
^‘I’ll look in, in the evening, at all events.” 

“I shall e.xpect you at five,” said Wardle, “Now, Joe;” 
and Joe having been at length awakened, the two friends 
departed in Mr. Wardle’s carriage, which in common humanity 
had a dickey behind for the fat boy, who, if there had been a 
foot-board instead, would have rolled off and killed himself in 
bis very first nap. 

Driving to the George and V ulture, they found that Arabella 
and her maid had sent for a hackney-coach iimnediately on the 
receipt of a short note from Emily announcing her arrival in town, 
and had proceeded straight to the Adelphi. As Wardle had 
business to transact in the city, they sent the carriage and the fat 
boy to his hotel, with the information that he and Mr Pickwick 
would return together to dinner at five o’clock. 

Charged with this message, the fat boy returned, slumbering 
as peaceably in his dickey over the stones as if it had been a 
down bed on watch-springs. By some extraordinary miracle he 
awoke of his own accord, when the coach stopped, and giving 
himself a good shake to stir up his faculties, went up stairs to 
execute his commission. 

Kow, whether the shake had pimbled the fat boy’s faculties 
together instead of arranging tlnuu in proper order, or h;id 
roused such a (piantity of new ideas wntiiin him as to render him 
oblivious of ordinary forms and ceremonies, or (which is also 
possible) had proved unsuccessful in preventing his falling asleep 
as he ascended the stairs, it is an undoubted fact that he w’alked 
into the sitting-room without previously knocking at the door, 
and 80 beheld a gentleman with bis arm clasping his young mis- 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


837 


tress’s waist, sitting very lovingly by her side on a sofa, while 
Arabella and her pretty handmaid feigned to 1»e absorlied in 
looking out of a window at the other end of tlie room. At 
sight of which phenomenon the fat boy uttered an interjection, 
the ladies a scream, and the gentleman an oath, almost simulta- 
neously. 

“ Wretched creature, what do you want here ?” said the gen 
tleman, who it is needless to say was Mr. Snodgrass. 

To this the fat boy, considerably terrified, briefly responded, 
“Missis.” 

“What do you want me for?” inquired Emily, turning her 
head aside, “ you stupid creature.” 

“ Master and Mr. Pickwick is a g/>ing to dine here at five,” 
replied the fat boy. 

“ Leave the room,” said Mr. Snodgrass, glaring upon the be- 
wildered youth. 

“No, no, no,” added Emily hastily. “Bella, dear, advise 
me.” 

Upon this, Emily and Mr. Snodgrass, and Arabella and Mary, 
crowded into a corner and conversed earnestly in whispers for 
some minutes, during which the fat boy dozed. 

“Joe,” said Arabella, at length, looking round with a most 
bewitching smile, “how do you do, Joe?” 

“Joe,” said Emily, “you’re a very good boy; I won’t forget 
you, Joe.” 

“Joe,” said Mr. Snodgrass, advancing to the astonished 
youth, and seizing his hand, “ I didn’t know you before. There’s 
five shillings for you, Joe.” 

“ I’ll owe you five, Joe,” said Arabella, “ for old acquaintance 
sake, you know,” and another most captivating smile was be- 
stowed upon the corpulent intruder. 

The fat boy’s perception being slow, he looked rather puzzled 
at first to account for this sudden prepossession in his favor, and 
stared about him in a very alarming manner. At length his 
broad face began to show symptoms of a grin of proportionately 
broad dimensions, and then thrusting half a crown into each of 
his pockets, and a hand and wrist after it, he burst into a horse 
laugh ; being for the first and only time in his existence. 

He understands ns, I see,” said Arabella. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


TTe lind better haTc something to eat immediately,” remarked 
Emily. 

Tlie fat l)oy almost Inuglicd again when he heard this sugges- 
tion. Mary, after a little more whi.spering, tripped forth from 
the group, and said, — 

“ I {jm going to dine with you to-day, Sir, if you have no ob- 
jection.” 

“ This way,” said the fat boy, eagerly. “ There is buch a 
jolly meat pie !” 

With these words the fat boy led the way down stairs, bis 
pretty companion captivating all the waiters and angering all 
the chambermaids as she followed him to the eating-room. 

There was the meat pie of which the youth had spoken so 
feelingly : and there were, moreover, a steak and a dish of pota- 
toes, and a pot of porter. 

“ Sit down,” said the fat boy. “ Oh, my eye, how prime I I 
am so hungry.” 

Having apostrophized his eye in a species of rapture five or 
six times, the youth took the head of the little table, and Mary 
set herself at the bottom. 

“Will you have some of this?” said the fat boy, plunging 
into the })ie up to the very ferules of the knife and fork. 

“A little, if yon please,” replied Mary. 

The fat boy assisted Mary to a little, and himself to a great 
deal, and was just going to begin eating when he suddenly laid 
down his knife and fork, leant forwaud in his chair, and letting 
his hands, with the knife and fork in them, fall on his knees, 
said, very slowly, 

“ I say, how nice you do look !” 

This was said in an admiring manner, and was, so far, gratify- 
ing ; but still there was enough of the cannibal in the young 
gentleman’s eyes to render the compliment a doubtful one. 

“ J'ear me, Joseph,” said Mary, afiecting to biush, “ what do 
you mean ?” 

The fat boy, gradually recovering his former position, replied 
with a heavy sigh, and remaining thoughtful for a few moments, 
drank a long draught of the porter. Having achieved this feat, 
he sighed again, and applied himself assiduotisly to the pie. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


839 


'‘What a nice young lady Miss Emily is I’^ said Mary, after 
a long silence. 

The fill boy had by this time fiiiishecf the pie. lie fixed his 
eyes on Mary, and replied — 

“ I knows a nicerer.” 

“ Indeed !” said Mary. 

“ Yes, indeed I’’ replied the fat boy, with unwonted vivacity. 

“ What’s her name ?” inquired Mary. 

“What’s yours ?” 

“ Mary.” 

“ So’s hers,” said the fat boy. “You’re her.” The boy 
grinned to add point to the compliment, and put his eyes into 
something between a squint and a cast, which there is reason to 
believe he intended for an ogle. 

“You mustn’t talk to me in that way,” said Mary; “yon 
don’t mean it.” 

“ Don’t I though ?” replied the fat boy ; “ I say — ” 

“Well.” 

“Are you going to come here regular ?” 

“No,” rejoined Mary, shaking her head; “I’m going away 
again to-night. Why ?” 

“ Oh 1” said the fat boy, in atone of strong feeling; “how 
we should have enjoyed ourselves at meals, if you had been I” 

“I might come here sometimes perhaps, to see you,” said 
Mary, plaiting the table cloth in assumed coyness, “ if you would 
do me a favor.” 

The fat boy looked from the pie dish to the steak, as if he 
thought a favor must be in a manner connecteti with something 
to eat; and then took out one of the half-crowns and glanced 
at it nervously. 

“ Don’t you understand me ?” said Mary, looking slyly in his 
fat face. 

Again he looked at the half-crown, and said faintly, “No,” 

“ The ladies want you not to say any thing to tlie old gentle- 
man about the young gentleman having been up stairs ; and I 
: want you too.” 

j “ Js that all I” said the fat boy, evidently very much relieved 
i as be pocketed the half-crown again. “ Of course I ain’t a 
! going to.” 


840 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“T^n see,” said Mary, “Mr. Snodp:rass is verv fond of Misi 
Emily, and .Miss Emily’s very fond of him, and if you were to 
tell ahout it, the old gentleman would carry you all away miles 
into the country, where you’d see noi)ody.” 

“No, no, I won’t tell,” said the fat boy, stoutly. 

“That’s a dear,” said Mary. “Now it’s time I went up 
stairs, and got my lady ready for dinner.” 

“ Don’t go yet,” urged the fat boy. 

“ I must,” replied Mary. “ Good-by, for the present.” 

The fat boy, with elephantine playfulness, stretched out his 
arras to ravish a kiss ; but as it required no great agility to 
elude him, his fair enslaver had vanished before he closed them 
again ; upon which the apathetic youth ate a pound or so of 
steak with a sentimental countenance, and fell fast asleep. 

There was so much to say up stairs, and there were so many 
plans to concert for elopement and matriinony in the event of 
old Wardle coiitiiiuiug to be cruel, that it wanted only half an 
hour to dinner when Mr. Snodgrass took his final adieu. The 
ladies ran to Emily’s bedroom to dress, and the lover, taking 
up his hat, walked out of the room. He had scarcely got out- 
side the door, when he heard Wardle’s voice talking loudly; 
and looking over the banisters, beheld him, followed by some 
other gentlemen, coming straight up stairs. Knowing nothing 
of the house, Mr. Snodgrass in his confusion stepped hastily 
back into the room he had just (piitted, and passing from thence 
into an inner apartment (Mr. Wardle’-s bedchamber), closed the 
door softly, just as the persons he had caught a glim})se of, 
entered the sitting-room. These were Mr. Wardle and Mr. 
Pickwick; Mr. Nathaniel Winkle and Mr. Benjamin Allen, 
whom he had no dithculty in recognizing by their voices. 

“ Very lucky 1 had the iiresence of mind to avoid tliera,’^ 
thought .Mr. Snodgrass with a smile, and walking on tiptoe to 
another door near the bedside; “this ojieus into the same pas- 
sage, and 1 can walk quietly and comfortably away.” 

There was only one ol)stacle to his walking quietly and com 
fortably away, which was, that the door was locked and the 
key gone. 

“ Let us have some of your best wine to-day, waiter,” said.old 
Wardle, rubbing his hands. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


841 


“You shall have some of the very best., Sir/’ replied the 
jv'aiter. 

“ Lot the ladies know we have come in.” 

“ Ves, Sir.” 

Devoitly .and ardently did ^Ir, Snodjrrass wish that the ladies 
could know had come in. He ventured once to whis]>er 
“ Waiter !” tl»rou«^]j the keyhole, but the probability of tlie wronj^ 
waiter coming to his relief fiasliing upon his mind, together with 
a sense of the strong resemblance between his own situation and 
that in which another gentleman had been recently found in a 
neighboring hotel (an account of whose misfortunes had appeared 
under the head of “ J’olice” in that morning’s paper), he set 
himself down u})on a portmanteau, and trembled violently. 

“ We won’t wait a minute for Perker,” said Wardle, looking 
at 1ms watch •, “ he is always exact. He will be here in time if 
he means to come ; and if he docs not, it’s of no use waiting 
lla! Arabella.” 

“ My sister I” exclaimed Mr. Benjamin Allen, folding her in 
a most romantic embrace. 

“ Oil. Ben, dear, how ^mu do smell of tobacco I ’ said Ara- 
bella, rut her overcome by this mark of affection. 

“ Do I ?” said Mr. Benjamin Allen, “ Do I, Bella ? Well, 
perhajis I do.” 

Perhaps he did, having just left a pleasant little smoking 
party of twelve medical students in a small back parlor with a 
large lire. 

“ But I am delighted to see you,” said Mr. Ben Allen. “ Bless 
you, Bella.” 

“There,” said Arabella, bending forward to kiss her brother; 
“ don’t take hold of me again, Ben, dear, because you tumble 
me so.” 

At this point of the reconciliation, Mr. Ben Allen allowed 
his feelings and the cigars and jmrter to overcome him ; and 
lookcfl round upon the beholders with dam[) spectacles. 

“ Is Jiothing to be said to me ?” cried Wardle, with open 
arms. 

“ A great deal,” whispered Arabella, as she received the old 
gentleman’s hearty caress and congratulation. “Yon are a 
hard-hearted, unfeeling, cruel monster 1” 


842 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


'^Yon arc a little rebel,” replied Wardle, in the Ramc tone; 
“and I am afraid I sliall be obliged to forbid yon the house. 
People like you, who get married in spite of every body, ought 
not to be let loose on society. But come,” added the old gen- 
tleman aloud, “ here’s the dinner ; you shall sit by me. Joe; 
why, damn the boy, he’s awake I” 

To the great distress of his master, the fat boy was indeed in 
a state of remarkable vigilance, his eyes being wide open, and 
looking as if they intended to remain so. There was an 
alacrity in his manner too, which was equally unaccountable ; 
every time his eyes met those of Emily or Arabella, he smirked 
and grinned ; and once Wardle could have sworn he saw him 
wink. 

This alteration in the fat boy’s demeanor originated in his 
increased sense of his own importance, and the dignity he ac- 
quired from having been taken into the confidence of the young 
ladies ; and the smirks and grins, and winks, were so many con- 
descending assurances that they might depend upon his fidelity. 
As these tokens were rather calculated to awaken suspicion than 
allay it, and were somewhat embarrassing besides, they were 
occasionally answered by a frown or shake of the head from 
Arabella, which the fat boy considering as hints to be on his 
guard, e.xpressed his perfect understanding of, by smirking, grin- 
ning, and winking, with redoubled assiduity. 

“ Joe,” said Mr. Wardle, after an unsuccessful search in all 
his pockets, “ is my snuff-box on the sofa ?” 

“ No, Sir,” replied the fat boy. 

“ Oh, I recollect; I left it on my dressing-table this morning,” 
said Wardle. “llun into the next room and fetch it.” 

The fat boy went into the next room, and having been absent 
about a minute, returned with the snuff-box and the palest face 
that ever a fat boy wore. 

“ What’s the matter with the boy I” exclaimed Wardle. 

“Nothen’s the matter with me,” replied Joe, nervously. 

“ Have you been seeing any spirits ?” inquired the old gen- 
tle man. 

“ Or taking any ?” added Ben Allen. 

“ I think you’re right,” whispered Wardle across the table. 

He is intoxicated I’m sure.” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


843 


Ben Allen replied that he thought he was ; and as that gen- 
tleman had seen a vast deal of the disease in question, Wardle 
was continned in an impression which had been hovering about 
his mind for half an hour, and at once arrived at the conclusion 
that the fat boy was very drunk. 

“ Just keep your eye upon him for a few minutes,” murmured 
Wardle. “We shall soon find out wdiether he is or not.” 

The unfortunate youth had only interchanged a dozen words 
with Mr. Snodgrass, that gentleman having implored him to 
make a private appeal to some friend to release him, and then 
pushed him out with the snuff-box, lest his })rolonged absence 
should lead to a discovery. He ruminated a little with a 
most disturbed expression of face, and left the room in search 
of Mary. 

But Mary had gone home after dressing her mistress, and 
the fat boy came back again, more disturbed than before. 

Wardle and Mr. Ben Allen exchanged glances. 

“ Joe,” said Wardle. 

“ Yes, Sir.” 

“ What did you go aw^ay for ?” 

The fat boy looked hopelessly in the face of every body at 
table, and stammered out that he didn’t know. 

“ Oh,” said Wardle, “you don’t know, eh ? Take this cheese 
to Mr. Pickwick.” 

Now, Mr. Pickwick being in the very best health and spirits, 
had been making himself perfectly delightful all dinner-time, 
and was at this moment engaged in an energetic conversation 
with Emily and Mr. AVinkle; bowing his head courteously in 
the emphasis of his discourse, gently waving his left hand to 
lend force to his observations, and all glowing with placid smiles 
He took a piece of cheese from the plate, and was upon the 
point of turning round to renew the conversation, when the fat 
boy, stooping so as to bring his head on a level with that of Mr. 
Pickwick, pointed wuth his thumb over his shoulder and made 
the most horrible and hideous face that was ever seen out of a 
pantomime. 

“Dear me I” said Mr. Pickwick, starting, “what a very — 
eh ?” He stopped, for the fat boy had drawn himself up, and 
was, or pretended to be, fast asleep. 


644 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


“’WImt’s the matter?” inquired Wardle. 

Tliis is such an extremely singular lad of youi s,” replied 
IMr Pickwick, looking uneasily at the boy. “It seems an odd 
thing to say, but upon my word, I am afraid that at times, he is 
a little deranged.” 

“Oh I Mr. Pickwick, pray don’t say so,” cried Emily and 
A rabella, both at once. 

“ I am not certain, of course,” said Mr. Pickwick, amidst 
profound silence, and looks of general dismay : “ but his man- 
ner to me this moment was really very alarming. Oh I” ejacu- 
lated Mr. Pickwick, suddenly jumping up with a short scream. 
‘nI beg your pardon, ladies, but at that moment he ran some 
sharp instrument into my leg. Really he is not safe.” 

“ He’s drunk,” roared old Wardle, passionately. “ Ring the 
bell, call the waiters I he’s drunk.” 

“ I ain’t,” said the fat boy, falling on his knees as his mastei 
seized him by the collar. “ I ain’t drunk.” 

“Then you’re mad — that’s worse. Call the waiters,” said 
the old gentleman. 

“ 1 ain’t mad ; Pm sensible,” rejoined the fat boy, beginning 
to cry. 

“ Then, wliat the devil did you run sharp instruments into 
Mr. Pickwick’s legs for?” inquired Wardle, angrily. 

“He wouldn’t look at me,” replied the boy. “I wanted to 
speak to him.” 

“ What did you wmnt to say ?” asked half a dozen voices at 
once. 

The fat boy gasped, looked at the bedroom do^r, gasped 
again, and wiped two tears away with the knuckle of each of 
his forefingers. 

“ What did you want to say ?” demanded Wardle, shaking 
him. 

“ Stop,” said Mr. Pickwick; “ allow me. What did you wish 
to communicate to me, my poor boy?” 

“I want to whisper to you,” replied the fat boy. 

•'•You want to bite his ear off, I su])pose,” said Wardle.j 
“ Don’t come near him, he’s vicious ; ring the bell, and let him 
be taken down stairs.” 

Just as Mr. Winkle caught the bell-rope in his hand, it waj 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


845 


arrested by a general expression of astonishment; the captive 
lover, his face burning with confusion, suddenly walked in from 
the bedroom, and made a cem])rehensive bow to the company. 

“ Hallo !” cried Wardle, releasing the fat boy’s collar, and 
staggering back, “What’s this!” 

“ I have been concealed in the next room. Sir, since you re* 
turned,” explained Mr. Snodgrass. 

“ Emily, my girl,” said AVardle, reproachfully, “ I detest 
meanness and deceit; this is unjustifiable and indelicate in the 
highest degree. I don’t deserve this at your hands, Emily, 
indeed.” 

“ Hear p:f[ia,” said Emily, “Arabella knows — every body hero 
knows ; Joe knows — that 1 was no party to this concealment. 
Augustus, for heaven’s sake, explain it.” 

Mr. Snodgrass, who had only waited for a hearing, at once 
recounted how he had been placed in his then distressing 
predicament; how the fear of giving rise to domestic dissen- 
sions had alone prom^Hed him to avoid Mr. Wardle, on his 
entrance ; and how he merely meant to depart by another door, 
but, finding it locked, had been compelled to stay against his 
will. It was a painful situation to be placed in; but he now 
regretted it the less, inasmuch as it afforded him an opportunity 
of acknowledging before their mutual friends that he loved Mr 
Wardle’s daughter deeply a) id sincerely, that he was proud to 
avow that the feeling was mutual, and that if thousands of 
miles were placed between them, or oceans rolled their water.% 
he could never for an instant forget those happy days when 
first — et cetera, ct cetera. 

Having delivered himself to this effect, Mr. Snodgrass bowed 
again, looked into the crown of his hat, and stepped towards 
the door. 

“ Stop !” shouted Wardle. “ Why, in the name of all 
that’s ” 

“ Inflammable,” mildly suggested Mr. Pickwick, who thought 
something worse wms coming. 

“Well— that’s inflammable,” said Wardle, adopting the 
substitute; “couldn’t you say all this to me in the first in- 
stance ?” 

“ Or confide in me ?” added Mr. Pickwick. 


84d 


rHE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


‘^Dear, dear,” said Arabella, taking up the defence, ^*what is 
the use of asking all that now, especially when you know you had 
set your covetous old heart on a richer son-in-law, and are so 
wild and fierce besides, that every body is afraid of you except 
me ? Shake hands with him, and order him some dinner, for 
goodness gracious sake, for he looks half-starved ; and ])ray 
have your wine up at once, for you’ll not be tolerable until you 
have taken two bottles at least.” 

The worthy old gentleman pulled Arabella’s ear, kissed 
her without the smallest scruple, kissed his daughter also with 
great affection, and shook Mr. Snodgrass warmly by the hand. 

“ She is right upon one point, at all events,” said the old 
gentleman, cheerfully. Ring for the wine.” 

The wine came, and Perker came up stairs at the same mo- 
ment. Mr. Snodgrass had dinner at a side table, and when he 
had dispatched it drew his chair next Emily, without the 
smallest opposition on the old gentleman’s part. 

The evening was excellent. Little Mr. Perker came out 
wonderfully, told various comic stories, and sang a serious 
song, which was almost as funny as the anecdotes. Ara- 
bella was very charming, Mr Wardle very jovial, Mr. Pickwick 
very harmonious, Mr. Ben Allen very uproarious, tlie lovers 
very silent, Mr. Winkle very talkative, and all of them very 
happy. 


CnArTER LYI. 


MR. SOLOMON PELL, ASSISTED BY A SELECT COMMITTEE OP COACH 
MEN, ARRANGES THE AFFAIRS OF THE ELDER MR. AVELLER. 

** SA>nvEL,” said Mr. Weller, accosting his son on the morn- 
ing after the funeral, “ I’ve found it, Sammy. I thought it vos 
there.” 

“ Tliought wot wos vcre ?” inquired Sam. 

“Your mother-in-law’s vill, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller. 
“ In vvirtue o’ vich, them arrangements is to be made as I told 
you on last night respectin’ the funs.” 

“ Wot, didn’t she tell you vere it wos ?” inipiired Sam. 

“Not a bit on it, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller. “Vevos 
a adjestin’ our little differences, and I vos a cheerin’ her spirits 
and bearin’ her up, so that I forgot to ask any thin’ about it. I 
don’t know as I should ha’ done it indeed, if I had remembered 
it,” added Mr. Weller, “for it’s a rum sort o’ thing, Sannny, 
to go a hankerin’ arter anybody’s property, ven you’re assistin’ 
’em in illness. It’s like hel})ing an outside passenger up ven he’s 
been pitched off a coach, and })uttin’ your hand in his pocket, 
vile you ask him vith a sigh how he finds his-self, Sammy.” 

With this figurative illustration of his meaning, Mr. Weller 
unclasped his pocket-book, and drew forth a dirty sheet of letter 
I pajier, on which were inscribed various characters crowded 
! together in remarkable confusion. 

“This here is the dockyment, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller. 

! “ I found it in the little black teapot on the top shelf o’ the bar 
i closet. She used to keep bank notes there afore she vos mar- 
; ried, Samivel. I’ve seen her take the lid off to pay a bill, 
j many and many a time. Poor creetur, she might ha’ tilled all 
I me teapots in the house vith vills, and not have inconweniencid 
herself neither, for she took wery little of any thin’ in that vay 
lately, ’cept on the Temperance nights, ven they just laid a 
foundation o’ tea to put the spirits a-top on.” 

I 54 


(■ 847 ) 


64B 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


"What does it say inquired Sam. 

“ Jist vot I told you, my boy,” rejoined his parent “ Two 
hundred pounds v^irth o’ reduced counsels to my son-in-law, 
Saraivel, and all the rest o’ ray j)ropcrty of ev’ry kind and de- 
scription votsoever to my husband, Mr. Tony Veller, who I 
appint as my sole cfrgzekiter.” 

“ ’Phat’s all, is it ?” said Sam. 

‘‘That’s all,” replied Mr. Weller. “And T s’pose as it’s all 
light and satisfactory to you and me, as is the only parties in- 
terested, ve may as veil put this bit o’ paper into the fire.” 

“Wot are you a-doin’ on, you lunatic ?” said Sam, snatching 
the paper away, as his parent, in all innocence, stirred the lire 
preparatory to suiting the action to the word. “ You’re a nice 
eggzekiter, you are.” 

“Yy not?” inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly round, wdth 
the poker in his hand. 

“Yy notl” exclaimed Sara, — “’cos it must be proved, and 
probated, and sworn to, and all nmnner o’ formalities.” 

“You don’t mean that?” said Mr. Weller, laying dowm the 
poker. 

Sara buttoned the will carefully in a side pocket, intimating 
by a look meanwhile, that he did mean it, and very seriously too 

“Then I’ll tell you wot it is,” said Mr. AVeller, after a short 
meditation, “this is a case for that ’ere confidential pal o’ the 
Chancellorshii)’s. Pell must look into thi.s, Sammy, lie’s the 
man for a difficult question at law. Ye’ll have this here brought 
afore the Solvent court directly, Samivel.” 

“ I never did see such a addle-headed old creetur !” exclaimed 
Sara, irritably, “ Old Baileys, and Solvent courts, and allcybis, 
and ev’ry species o’ gammon alvays a-runnin’ through his brain. 
You’d better get your out o’ door clothes on, and come to town 
about this bisness, than stand a preachin’ there about wot you 
don’t understand nothin’ of.” 

“Wery good, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller. “I’m quiie 
agreeable to any thin’ as vill he.\]>edite business, Sammy. Ibit 
mind this here, my boy, nobody but Pell — nobody })Ut Pell as a 
legal ad wiser.” 

“1 don’t want anybody else,” replied Sam. “Xow, are you 
a-comiu’ ?” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


849 


“Vait a Tiiinit, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller, who. having 
tied his shawl with the aid of a small glass that hung in the 
window, was now, by dhit of the most wonderful exertions, 
struggling into his upper garments. “Vaitaminit, Sammy; 
ven yoiu grow as old as your father, you voii’t get into your 
veskit (pike as easy as you do now, my boy.” 

“If 1 couldn’t get into it easier than that, I’m blessed if I’d 
vear vun at all,” rejoined his son. 

“You thinli*so now,” said Mr. Weller, with the gravity of 
age, “ but you’ll find that as you get vider you’ll get viser. 
Vidlh and visdom, Sammy, alvays grows together.” 

As Mr. Weller delivered this infallible maxim — the result of 
many years’ personal experience and observation — he contrived, 
by a dexterous twist of his body, to get the bottom button of 
his coat to perform its office. Having paused a few seconds to 
recover breath, he brushed his hat with his elbow, and declared 
himself ready. 

“ As four heads is better than two, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, 
as they drove along the London road in the chaise cart, “and 
as all this here property is a wery great temptation to a legal 
gen’l’m’n, ve’ll take a couple o’ friends o’ mine vith us, as ’ll be 
wery soon down upon him if he comes any thin’ irreg’lar ; two 
o’ them as saw you to the Fleet that day. They’re the wery 
best judges,” added Mr. Weller in a half whisper, “the wery 
best judges of a horse you ever know’d.” 

“ And of a lawyer too ?” inquired Sam. 

“The man as can form a ackerate judgment of a animal, can 
form a ackerate judgment of any thin’,” re[)lied his father; so 
dogmatically, that Sam did not attempt to controvert the posi- 
tion. 

In pursuance of this notable resolution, the services of the 
mottled-faced gentleman and of two other very fat coachmen — 
selected l)y Mr. Weller, probably, with a view to their width 
and consequent wisdom — were put into requisition ; and this 
assistance having been secured, the party proceeded to the 
public-house in Portugal-street, whence a messenger was dis- 
])aiched to the Insolvent court over the way, requiring Mr. 
Solomon Pell’s immediate attendance. 

The messenger fortunately found Mr. Solomon Pell in ^onrt, 


860 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


repaling himself, business being rather slack, with a cold col- 
lation of an Abernethy biscuit and a saveloy. The message 
was no sooner whispered in his car than he thrust them in his 
pocket among various professional documents, and hurried over 
the way with such alacrity that he reached the parlor before the 
messerger had even emancipated himself from the court. 

“ (Jentlemen,” said Mr. Pell, touching his hat, “ my service 
to you all. I don’t say it to flatter you, gentlemen, but there 
are not five other men in the world that I’d have come out of 
that court for, to-day.” 

“ So busy, eh ?” said Sam. 

“ Busy I” replied Pell ; “ I’m completely sewn up, as my 
friend the late Lord Chancellor many a time used to say to mo, 
gentlemen, when he came out from hearing appeals in the House 
of Lords. Poor fellow I he was very susceptible of fatigue ; he 
used to feel those appeals uncommonly. I actually thought 
more than once that he’d have sunk under them, I did, indeed.” 

Here Mr. Pell shook his head and paused ; upon which the 
elder Mr. Weller, nudging his neighbor, as begging him to 
mark the attorney’s high connections, asked whether the duties 
in question produced any permanent ill eflccts on the consti- 
tution of his noble friend. 

“ I don’t think he ever quite recovered them,” replied Pell 
<‘in fact, I’m sure he never did. ‘I’ell,’ he used to say to me 
many a time, ‘ how the blazes you can stand the head-work you 
do, is a mystery to me.’ — ‘ Well,’ 1 used to answer, ‘ / hardly 
know how 1 do it, upon my life.’ — ‘ Pell,’ he’d a»ld, sighing, and 
looking at me with a little envy — friendly envy, you know, 
gentlemen, mere friendly envy ; I never minded it — ‘ Pell, you’re 
a wonder ; a wonder.’ Ah ! you’d have liked him ver}’ much 
if you had known him, gentlemen. Bring me three penn’orth 
of rum, my dear.” 

Addressing this latter remark to the waitress in a tone of 
subdued grief, Mr. Pell sighed, looked at his shoes, and the 
ceiling; and the rum having by that time arrived, drank it up. 

“However,” said Pell, drawing a chair up to the table, “a 
professional man has no right to tliink of his ])rivate friendships 
when his legal assistance is wanted. By the by, gentlemen. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


851 


fiince I f?aw yon here before, we have had to weep over a very 
melanelioly occurrence. ” 

iSlr. J\dl drew out a pocket-handkerchief when he came to 
the word weep, l)ul he made no further use of it than to wipe 
away a sliglit tinj^e of rum which hunp: u])on his upper lip. 

“I saw it in the Advertiser, Mr. Weller,” continued Pell. 
“ Bless my soul, not more than fifty-two 1 dear me — only 
think.” 

These indications of a musing spirit were addressed to the 
mottled-faced man, whose eyes Mr. Pell had accidentally 
caught; upon which the mottled-faced man, whose apprehen- 
sion of matters in general was of a foggy nature, moved un- 
easily in his seat, and opined that indeed, so far as that went, 
there was no saying how things was brought about; which ob- 
servation, involving onet)f those subtile propositions which it is 
difficult to encounter in argument, was controverted by nobody. 

“ I have heard it remarked that she was a very fine woman, 
Mr. Weller,” said Pell, in a sympathizing manner. 

“ Yes, Sir, she wos,” replied the elder Mr. Weller, not much 
relishing his mode of discussing the subject, and yet thinkijig 
that the attorney, from his long intimacy with the late Lord 
Chancellor, must know best on all matters of polite breeding. 

' “ She wos a wery fine ’ooman. Sir, ven I first know’d her. She 
wos a widder. Sir, at that time.” 

“ Now, it’s curious,” said Pell, looking round with a sorrow- 
1 ful smile ; “ Mrs. Pell was a widow.” 

“ That’s very e.xtraordinary,” said the mottled-faced man. 

“ Well, it is a curious coincidence,” said Pell. 

“ Not at all,” gruffly remarked the elder Mr. Weller. “ More 
I widders is married than single vimin.” 

“Very good, very good,” said Pell, “you’re quite right, Mr. 

1 'W(dler. iSIrs. Pell was a very elegant and accomplished 
I woman ; her manners were the theme of universal admiration in 
1 our neighborhood. I was proud to see that woman dance ; 
i there was something so firm and dignified, and yet natural in 
! her motion. Her cutting, gentlemen, was simplicity itself. — 
I Ah I well, well ! E.xcuse my asking the question, Mr. Samuel,” 
i continued the attorney in a lower voice, “ was your mother-in 
1 law iall?'^ 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


** Not wery,” replied Sam. 

“^Irs. Tell was a tall figure,” said Pell, “a splended woman, 
with a noble shape, and a nose, gentlemen, formed to command 
and be majestic. She was very much attached to me — very 
much — highly connected, too ; her mother’s brother, gentlemen, 
failed for eight hundred pound as a Law Stationer.” 

“ Veil,” said Mr. Weller, who had grown rather restless 
during this discussion, ‘‘ vith regard to bis’ness.” 

The word was music to Pell’s ears, lie had been revolving 
in his mind whether any business was to be transacted, or 
whether he had been merely invited to partake of a glass of 
brandy and water, or a bowl of punch, or any similar ]>rofes- 
sional compliment, and now the doubt was set at rest without 
his ai)peuriug at all eager for its solution, llis eyes glistened 
as he laid his hat on the table, and said — 

“What is the business upon which — urn? Either of these 
gentlemen wish to go through the court ? We require an 
arrest, a friendly arrest will do, you know ; we are all friends 
here, I suppose ?” 

“ Give me the dockyment, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller, taking 
the will from his son, who appeared to enjoy the interview 
amazingly. “ AVot we rek-vire. Sir, is a probe o’ this here.” 

“ Probate, my dear Sir, ])robate,” said I*ell. 

“Veil, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller sharply, “probe and probe 
it, is wery much the same ; if you don’t understand wot 1 mean, 
Sir, I dessay I can find them as does.” 

“No offence, I hope, Mr. Weller,” said Pell, meekly. “You 
are the executor, I see,” he added, casting his eyes over the 
paper. 

“ I am, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. 

“ These other gentlemen, I presume, are legatees, are they f ” 
inquired Pell with a congratulatory smile. 

“Sammy is a leg-at-ease,” replied Mr. Weller; “these other 
gen’l’men is friends o’ mine, just come to see fair ; — a kind of 
umpires.” 

“Oh!” said Pell, “very good. I have no ol)jections. Pm 
sure. 1 shall want a matter of five pound of you before I 
begin, ha I ha I iia I” 

It being decided by the committee that the five pounds might 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


858 


he advanced, ^Ir. Weller produced that sum, after which a long 
consultation, al^out nollung particular, took place, in the course 
whereof Mr. Pell demonstrated, to the perfect satisfaction of 
the ‘Tentlcmen who saw fair, that unless the management of the 
business had been intrusted to him, it must all have gone 
wrong, for reasons not clearly made out, but no doubt sufficient. 
This important point being dispatched, Mr. Pell refre.shed 
himself with three chops, and liquids both malt and spirituous, 
at the expense of the estate, and then they all went away to 
Doctors’ Commons. 

Thejiext day there was another visit to Doctors’ Commons, 
and a great to-do with an attesting ostler, who, being ine- 
briated, declined swearing any thing but profane oaths, to the 
great scandal of a proctor and surrogate. Ne.xt week there 
were more visits to Doctors’ Commons, and a visit to the 
Legacy Duty Office besides, and treaties entered into for the 
disposal of the lease and business, and ratifications of the same, 
and inventories to be made out, and lunches to be taken, and 
dinners to be eaten, and so many profitable things to be done, 
and such a mass of papers accumulated, that Mr. Solomon Pell 
and the boy, and the blue bag to boot, all got so stout that 
scarcely any botly would have known them for the same man, 
boy, and bag, that had loitered about Portugal street, a few 
days before. 

At length, all these weighty matters being arranged, a day 
was fixed for selling out and transferring the stock, and of wait- 
ing with that view upon Wilkins Flasher, Esq., stock-broker, 
ot somewhere near the Bank, who had been recommended by 
Mr. Solomon Pell for the puri)Ose. 

It was a kind of festive occasion, and the parties were attired 
accordingly. Mr. Weller’s tops were newly cleaned, and his 
dress was arranged with peculiar care : the mottled-faced gen- 
tleman wore at his button hole a full sized dahlia with several 
leaves, and the coats of his two friends were adorned with nose- 
gays of laurel and other evergreens. All three were habited in 
strict holiday costume ; ^that is to say, they were wrapped up 
to the chins, and wore as many clothes as possible, which is, 
and has been, a stage-coachman’s idea of full dress ever since 
stage-coaches were invented. 


854 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


^Ir. Pell was waitinp^ at the usual place of meeting at the 
appointed time ; and even he wore a pair of gloves and a clean 
shirt, the latter much frayed at the collar and wristbands by 
frequent washings. 

“ A quarter to two,” said Pell, looking at the parlor clock. 
“If we are with Mr. Flasher at a quarter past, we shall just hit 
the best time.” 

“ What should you say to a drop o’ beer, gen’l’men ?” sug- 
gested the mottled-faced man. 

“ And a litile bit o’ cold beef,” said the second coachman. 

“ Or a oyster,” added the third, who was a hoarse gentleman, 
supported by very round legs. 

“ Hear, hear !” said Pell ; “ to congratulate Mr. Weller, on 
his coming into possession of his property : eh ? ha ! ha I” 

“ Pm quite agreeable, gen’l'men,” answered Mr. Weller. 
“ Sammy, pull the bell.” 

Sam conijdied ; and the porter, cold beef, and oysters being 
promptly produced, the lunch was done ample justice to. 
Where every body took so active a part, it is almost invidious 
to make a distinction ; but if one individual evinced greater 
powers than another, it was the coachman with the hoarse 
voice, who took an imperial j)int of vinegar with his oysters, 
without betraying the least emotion. 

“ Mr. Pell, Sir,” said the elder Mr. Weller, stirring a glass 
of brandy and water, of which one was placed before every gen- 
tleman when the oyster shells were removed ; “ Mr. Pell, Sir, 
it wos my intentioji to have ])roposed the funs on this occasion, 
but Samivel has vispered to me — ” 

Here Mr. San ud Weller, who had silently eat his oysters 
with traiKpiil smiles, cried “ Hear I” in a very loud voice. 

“ — Has vispered to me,” resumed his father, “that it vould 
be better to de-wote the liquor to vishin’ you success and pros- 
perity and thankin’ you for the manner in which you’ve 
brought this here business through. Here’s your health, Sir.” 

“ Hold hard there,” interposed the mottled-faced gentleman, 
with siidden energy, “your eyes on me, gen’l’raen.” 

Sayiivi: this, the mottled-faced gentleman rose, as did the 
other gentlemen. The mottled-faced gentleman reviewed the 
company* and slowly raised his hand, upon which every mau 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


855 


(inclnding he of the mottled countenance) drew a long breath, 
and lifted his tumbler to his lips. In one instant the mottled- 
faced gentleman depressed his hand again, and every glass was 
set down empty. It is impossible to describe the thrilling 
effect produced by this striking ceremony ; at once dignified, 
solemn, and impressive, it combined every element of grandeur. 

“ Well, gentlemen,” said Mr. Pell, “ all I can say is, that 
such marks of confidence must be very gratifying to a pro- 
fessional man. I don’t wish to say any thing that might 
appear egotistical, gentlemen, but I’m very glad, for your own 
sakes, that you came to me : that’s all. If you had gone to 
any low member of the profession, it’s my firm conviction, and 
I assure you of it as a fact, that you would have found your- 
selves in Queer street before this. I could have wished my 
noble friend had been alive to have seen my management of this 
case : I don’t say it out of pride, but I think — however, gentle- 
men, I won’t trouble you with that. I’m generally to be found 
here, gentlemen, but if I’m not here, or over the way, that’s my 
address. You’ll find my terms very cheap and reasonable, and 
no man attends more to his clients than I do, and I hope 
I know a little of my profession besides. If you have any 
opportunity of recommending me to any of your friends, gen- 
tlemen, I shall be very much obliged to you, and so will they 
too, when they come to know me. Your healths, gentlemen.” 

With this expression of his feelings, jMr. Solomon Pell laid 
three small written cards before Mr. Weller’s friends, and, look- 
iiig at the clock again, feared it was time to be walking. Upon 
this hint Mr. Weller settled the bill, and, issuing forth, the ex- 
ecutor, legatee, attorney, and umpires, directed their steps 
tow'ards the city. 

The office of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, of the Stock Ex- 
change, was in a first floor up a court behind the Bank of Eng- 
land ; the house of Wilkins Flasher, Esquii^;, was at Brixton, 
Surrey ; the horse and stanhope of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, 
were at an adjacent lively stable ; the groom of Wilkins Flasher, 
Esquire, was on his way to the West End to deliver some game , 
the clerk of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, had gone to his dinner ; 
and 80 Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, himself, cried, “Come in/’ 


86G 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


when Mr. Pell and his companions knocked at the counting- 
house door. 

“ Good morning, Sir,” .said Pell, bowing obsequiously. “We 
want to make a little transfer, if you please.” 

“ Oh, just come in, will you ?” said Mr. Flasher. “ Sit down 
a minute ; I’ll attend to you directly.” 

“Thank you. Sir,” said Pell, “there’s no hurry. Take a 
chair, Mr. Weller.” 

Mr. Weller took a chair, and Sam took a box, and the um- 
pires took what they could get, and looked at the almanac and 
one or two papers which were watered against the wall, with as 
much Oj)en-eyed reverence as if they had been the finest elforts 
of the old’masters. 

“ Well, ril bet you haif a dozen of claret on it ; come,” said 
Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, resuming the conversation to which 
Mr. I’ell’s entrance had caused a momentary interruption. 

This was addressed to a very smart young gentleman wdio 
w'ore his hat on his right whisker, and was lounging over the 
desk killing flies with a ruler. Wilkins Fla.sher, Esquire, was 
balancing himself on two legs of an office stool, spearing a 
wafer-box with a ])enknife, which he dropped every now and 
then with great dexterity into the very centre of a small red 
wafer that was stuck outside. 15oth gentlemen had very open 
waistcoats and very rolling collars, and very small boots and 
very big rings, and very liitle watches and very large guard 
chains, and symmetrical inexpressibles and scented pocket hand- 
kerchiefs. 

“ I never bet haif a dozen,” said the other gentleman. “ I’ll 
take a dozen.” 

“ Done, Simmery, done 1” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. 

“ P. P., mind,” observed the other. 

“ Of course,” replied Wilkins Flasher, Esquire ; and Wilkins 
Flasher, Esquire, entered it in a little book with a gold })encil- 
case, and the other gentleman entered it also, in another little 
book with another gold pencil-case. 

“ I see there’s a notice up this morning about Boffer,” ob- 
served Mr. Simmery. “ Poor devil, he’s expelled the house.” 

“I’ll bet you ten guineas to five’ he cuts 'his throat,” said 
Wilkins Flasher^ Esquire. 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


867 


** Done/* replied Mr. Simraery. 

“ StO[) ! I bar,” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, thoughtfully. 
“ Perhaps lie may hang himself.” 

“Very good,” rejoined Mr. Simmery, pulling out the gold 
pencil-case again. “ I’ve no objection to take you that way. 
Say — makes away with himself.” 

“Kills himself, in fact,” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. 

“Just so,” replied Mr. Simraery, putting it down. “‘Flasher 
— ten guineas to five, Boffer kills himself.’ Within what time 
shall we say ?” 

“ A fortnight ?” suggested Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. 

“ Con-found it, no ;” rejoined Mr. Simmery, stopping for an 
instant to smash a fly with the ruler. “ Say a week.” 

“ Split the difference,” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. “Make 
it ten days.” 

“Well ; ten days,” rejoined Mr. Simmery. 

So, it was entered down in the little books thatBoffer waste 
lull himself within ten days, or Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was to 
hatnl over to Frank Simmery, Esquire, the sum of ten guineas; 
and th.it if Boffer did kill himself within that time, Frank Sim- 
niery, Esquire, would pay to Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, five 
guineas, instead. 

“ Pm very sorry he has failed,” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. 
“ Capital dinners he gave.” 

“ Fine port he had too,” remarked Mr. Simraery. “We are 
going to send our butler to the sale to-morrow, to pick up some 
of that sixty-four.” 

“ The devil you are !” said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. “ My 
man’s going too. Five guineas my man outbids your man.” 

“ Done.” 

Another entry was made in the little books, with the gold 
pencil-cases; and Mr. Simmery having by this time killed all 
the flies and taken all the bets, strolled away to the Stock Ex- 
change to see what was going forward. 

Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, now condescended to receive Mr. 
Solomon Pell’s instructions ; and having filled up some iirintcd 
forms, requested the party to follow him to the Bank, which 
they did ; Mr. Weller and his three friends staring at all they 


858 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

beheld in unbounded astonishment, and Sam encountering every 
thing witli a coolness which nothing could disturb. 

Crossing a courtyard which was all noise and bustle ; and 
passing a couple of porters who seemed dressed to match the 
red fire-engine which was wheeled away into a corner, they 
])assed into an office where their business was to be transacted, 
where Pell and Mr. Flasher left them standing for a few mo- 
ments, while they went up stairs into the Will Office. 

“Wot place is this here ?” whispered the mottled-facecl gen- 
tleman to the elder Mr. Weller. 

“ Counsel’s Office,” replied the executor in a whisper. 

“Wot are them gen’l’men a settin’ behind the counters?” 
asked the hoarse coachman. 

“Reduced counsels, I s’pose,” replied Mr. Weller. “Ain’t 
they the reduced counsels, Samivel ?” 

“Wy, you don’t suppose the reduced counsels is alive, do 
you ?” inquired Sam, with some disdain. 

“IIow should I know?” retorted Mr. Weller; “I thought 
they looked wery like it. Wot are they, then?” 

“ Clerks,” replied Sam. 

“Wot are they all a eatin’ ham sangwidges for?” inquired 
his father. 

“ ’Cos it’s in their dooty, I suppose,” replied Sam, “ it’s a part 
o’ the system ; they’re alvays a doin’ it here, all day long !” 

Mr. Weller and his friends had scarcely had a moment to re- 
flect upon this singular regulation as connected with the 
monetary system of the country, when they were rejoined by 
Pell and Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, who led them to a part of 
the connter, above which was a round black board with a large 
“ W” on it. 

“ Wot’s that for, Sir?” inquired Mr. Weller, directing Pell’s 
attention to the target in question. 

“ The first letter of the name of the deceased,” replied Pell. 

'1 say,” said Mr. Weller, turning round to the umpires, 
“there’s somethin’ wrong here. We’s our letter — this won’t 
do.” 

The referees at once gave it as their decided opinion that the 
business could not be legally proceeded with, under the letter ^ 
W, and in all probability it would have stood over for one day 


THE PICKWICK PAPEPS. 


869 


at least, had it not been for the prompt though at first sight un- 
dutiful beliavior of Sara, who seizing his father by the skirt of 
the coat, dragged him to tlie counter, and pinned liini there 
until he had affixed his signature to a couple of iiistrunients, 
which, from Mr. Weller’s habit of printing, was a work of so 
ranch labor and time that the officiating clerk peeled and cut 
three Ripstone pippins while it was performing. 

As the elder Mr. Weller insisted on selling out his portion 
forthwith, they proceeded from the Rank to the gate of the 
Stock Plxchange, to which Wilkins Flasher, Esq., after a short 
absence, returned with a cheque on Smith, Payne, & Smith, for 
five hundred and thirty pounds, that being the sum of money to 
which Mr. Weller at the market price of the day was entitled, 
in consideration of the balance of the second Mrs. Weller’s 
funded savings. Sam’s two hundred pounds stood transferred 
to his name, and Wilkins Flasher, Esq., having been paid his 
commission, dropped the money carelessly into his coat pocket, 
and lounged back to his office. 

Air. Weller was at first obstinately determined upon cashing 
the checpie in nothing but sovereigns; but on its being repre- 
sented by the umpires that by so doing he must incur the ex- 
pense of a small sack to carry them home in, he consented to 
receive the amount in five-pound notes. 

“ Aly son,” said Mr. Weller as they came out of the banking- 
house, “ my son and me has a wery partickler engagement this 
arternoon, and I should like to have this here bis’ness settled 
out of hand, so let’s jest go straight avay someveres, vere ve can 
hordit the accounts.” 

A quiet room was soon found, and the accounts were pro- 
duced and audited. Mr. Pell’s bill was taxed by Sam, and 
some charges were disallowed by the umpires ; but, notwith- 
standing Mr. Pells declaration, accompanied with many solemn 
asseverations that they were reallj'^too hard upon him, it was by 
very many degrees the best professional job he had ever had, 
and one on which he boarded, lodged, and washed, for six 
months afterwards. 

The umpires having partaken of a dram, shook hands and 
departed, as they had to drive out of town that night. Air. 
Solomon Pell, finding that nothing more was going forward eithei 


860 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


in the eating or drinking way, took a most friendly leave ; and 
Sam and his father were left alone. 

“ There,” said Mr. AVeller, thrusting his pocket hook in his 
side pocket, “vith the bills for the lease and that, there’s eleven 
hundred and eighty pound here. Now Samivel, my boy, turn 
the horse’s heads to the George and Walter.” 


% 




ti - 1 ,''^ 'ij-- ^ ^ 


CHAPTER LYII. 

AN IMPORTANT CONFERENCE TAKES PLACE BETWEEN MR. PICK- 
WICK ANI> SAMUEL WELLER, AT WHICH HIS PARENT ASSISTS. 

— AN OLD tlENTLEMAN IN A SNUFF-COLORED SUIT ARRIVES 

UNEXPECTEDLY. 

Mr. Pickwick was sitting alone, innsing over many things, 
and thinking, among otlier considerations, how he could best 
provide for the young cou})le whose pre.sent unsettled condition 
was a matter of constant regret and an.xiety to him, when Mury 
stepped lightly into the room, and, advancing to the table, said 
rather hastily — 

“Oh, if you please. Sir, Samuel is down stairs, and he says 
may his father see you 

“ Surely,” replied !Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Thank you, Sir,” said Mary, tripping towards the door 
again. 

“ Sam has not been here long, has he ?” inquired Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

“Oh no. Sir,” replied Mary eagerly. “He has only just 
come home. He is not going to ask you for any more leave, 
Sir, he says.” 

]Mary might have been conscious that she had communicated 
this last intelligence with more warmth than seemed actually 
necessary, or she might have observed the good-humored smile 
with which Mr. Pickwick regarded her when she had finished 
speaking. She certaiidy held down her head, and examined the 
corner of a very smart little ajiron with more closeness than there 
appeared ai^y absolute occasion for. 

“T»'ll them they can come up at o ce, by all means,” said 
^Ir. Pickwick. 

Mary, a])parenlly much relieved, hurried away with hei 
mes.sage. 

Mr. Pickwick took two or three turns up and down the room; 

( 861 ) 


862 THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

an 1 rubbing his cliin with his left hand as he did so, appeared 
lust in thought. 

“Well, well,” said Mr. Pickwick at length, in a kind but 
somewhat melancholy tone, “it is the best way in which I could 
reward him for his attachment and fidelity; let it be so, in 
Heaven’s name. It is the fate of a lonely old man, that those 
about him should form new and ditferent attachments and leave 
him. I have no right to expect that it should be otherwise 
with me. No, no,” added Mr. Pickwick more cheerfully, “ it 
would be selfish and ungrateful. I ought to be happy to have 
an opportunity of providing for him so well. I am — of course 
I am.” 

Mr. Pickwick had been so absorbed in these reflections, that 
a knock at the door was three or four times repeated before he 
heard it. Hastily seating himself, and calling up his accustomed 
pleasant looks, he gave the required permission, and Sam 
Weller entered, followed by his father. 

“ Glad to see you back again, Sara,” said Mr. Pickwick. 
“How do you do, Mr. Weller?” 

“ Wery hearty, thauk’ee, Sir,” replied the widower; “hope I 
see you well, Sir.” 

“ Quite, I thank yon,” replied Mr. Pickwick. 

“ 1 wanted to have a little bit o’ conversation with you, Sir,” 
said Mr. Weller, “ if you could spare me five minits or so, Sir.” 

“ Certainly,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “ Sam, give your father 
a chair.” 

“ Thank’ee, Saraivel, I’ve got a cheer here,” said Mr. Weller, 
bringing one forward as he spoke; “uncommon fine day it’s 
been. Sir,” added the old gentleman, laying his hat on the floor 
as he set himself down. 

“Remarkably so indeed,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “Very 
seasonable.” 

“ Seasonablest veather I ever see, Sir,” rejoined Mr. Weller. 
Here the old gentleman was seized with a violent fit of cough 
ing, which being terminated, he nodded his head, and winked, 
and made several supplicatory and threatening gestures to his 
son, all of which Sam Weller steadily abstained from seeing. 

Mr. Pickwick, perceiving that there was some embarrassment 
on the old gentleman’s part, affected to be engaged in cutting 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


863 


the leaves of a book that lay beside him ; and waited patiently, 
until Mr. Weller should arrive at the object of his visit. 

“I never see sich a aggerawatin’ boy as you arc, Samivel,” 
said Mr. Weller, looking indignantly at his son ; “ never in all 
my born days.** 

“What is he doing, Mr. W'eller ?** inquired ^Ir. Pickwick. 

“ lie von’t begin, Sir,** rejoined Mr. Weller; “he knows I 
ain’t ekal to ex-pressin* myself ven there’s any thin’ partickler tc 
be done, and yet he’ll stand and see me a settin’ here takin’ up 
your walable time, and raakin’ a rcg’lar spectacle o’ myself, 
rayther than help me out vith a syllalile. It ain’t filial conduct, 
Samivel,” said Mr. Weller, wiping his forehead ; “ wery far 
from it.” 

“ You said you’d speak,” replied Sam ; “ how .should I know 
you wos done up at the wery beginnin’ ?” 

“ You might ha’ seen 1 warn’t able to start,” rejoined his 
father ; “ Pm on the wrong side of the road, and l)ackiu’ into 
the palins and all manner of unpleasantness, and yet you von’t 
put out a hand to help me. I’m ashamed on you, Samivel.” 

“ The fact is, Sir,” said Sam, with a slight bow, “the gov’ner’s 
been a drawin’ his money.” 

“ Wery good, Samivel, wery good,” said Mr. Weller, nodding 
his head with a satisfied air; “ I didn’t mean to speak harsh to 
you, Sammy. Wery good. Tliat’s the vay to begin; come to 
the pint at once. Wery good indeed, Samivel.” 

Mr. Weller nodded his head an e.xtraordinary number of 
times, in the excess of his gratification, and waited in a listening 
attitude for Sam to resume his statement. 

“ You may sit down, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, apprehending 
that the interview was likely to prove rather longer than he had 
expected. 

Sam bowed again and sat down ; his ftithcr looking round 
he continued, 

“ The gov’ner. Sir, has drawn out five hundred and ihiri \ 
pound.” 

“ Uedncod counsels,” interposed Mr. Weller, senior, in an 
under tone. 

“ It don’t much matter vether it’s reduced counsels, or wot 
65 


861 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


not,” said Sam; “five hundred and thirty pound is the sum, 
ain’t it 

“All right, Samivel,” replied Mr, Weller. 

“ To vich sum, he has added for the house and bisness — ” 

“Lease, good-vill, stock, and fixters,” interposed Mr. Weller. 

— “As much as makes it,” continued Sam, “altogether, 
eleven hundred and eighty pound.” 

“Indeed!” said Mr. Pickwick. “lam delighted to hear it. 
I congratulate you, Mr. Weller, on having done so well.” 

“Vaita rainit. Sir,” said Mr. AVeller, raising his hand in a 
deprecatory manner. “ Get on, Samivel.” 

“ This here money,” said Sam, with a little hesitation, “he‘s 
anxious to put someveres vere he knows it’ll be safe, and Pm 
wery anxious too, for if he keeps it, he’ll go a lendin’ it to some- 
body, or inwestiu’ property in horses, or droppin’ his pocket-book 
down a airy, or makiu’ au Egyptian mummy of his-self in some 
vay or another.” 

“Wery good, Samivel,” observed Mr. Weller, in as com- 
plaisant a manner as if Sam had been passing the highest eulo- 
giums on his prudence and foresight. “ Wery good.” 

“For vich reasons,” continued Sam, plucking nervously at 
the brim of his hat ; “ for vich reasons he’s drawn it out to-day, 
and come here vith me to say, Icastvays to offer, or in other 
words, to — ” 

“To say this here,” said the elder Mr. Weller, impatiently, 
“that it ain’t o’ no use to me; I’m agoin’ to vorkacoach reg’lar, 
and ha’n’t got noveres to keep it in, unless I vos to pay the guard 
for takin’ care on it, or to put it in vun o’ the coach pockets, 
vich ’ud be a temptation to the insides. If you’ll take on it for 
me. Sir, I shall be wery much obliged to you. P’raps,” said 
Mr. Weller, walking up to Mr. Pickwick and whispering in his 
ear, “p’raps, it’ll go a little vay towards the expenses o’ that 
’ere conwiction. All Isay is, just you keep it till I ask you for 
it again.” With these words, Mr. Weller placed the pocket- 
book in Mr. Pickwick’s hands, caught up his hat, and ran out 
of the room Avith a celerity scarcely to be expected from so cor- 
pulent a subject. 

“ Stop him, Sam,” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, earnestly. “ Over 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


S66 


take him ; bring him back instantly I Mr. Weller — here — como 
back 

Smn saw that his master’s injunctions were not to be disobeyed ; 
and catching- his father by the arm as he was descending the 
stairs, dragged him back by main force. 

“ My good friends,” said Mr. Pickwick, taking the old man 
by the hand; “your honest confidence overpowers me.” j 

“ 1 don’t see no occasion for nothin o’ the kind. Sir,” replied 
Mr. Weller, obstinately. 

“I assure you, my good friend, I have more money than I 
can ever need ; far more tha i a man at my age can ever live to 
spend,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“No man knows how much he can spend till he tries,” ob- 
served Mr. Weller. 

“Perha})s not,” replied Mr. Pickwick; “but as I have no in- 
tention of trying any such e.^periinents, I am not likely to como 
to want. I must beg you to take this back, Mr. Weller.” 

“ Wery well,” said Mr. Weller with a very discontented look. 
“Mark my vords, Sammy, I’ll do somethin’ desperate vith this 
here ])roperty ; somethin’ desperate I” 

“You’d better not,” replied Sam. 

Mr. Weller reflected for a short time, and then buttoning up 
his coat with great determination, said — 

“Pll keep a pike.” 

“ Wot 1” e.Kclaimed Sam. 

“A i)ike,” rejoined Mr. Weller, through his set teeth; “I’ll 
keep a pike. Say good-by to your father, Samivel; 1 dewote 
the remainder o’ my days to a pike.” 

This threat was such an awful one, and Mr. Weller besides 
appearing fully resolved to carry it into execution, seemed so 
deeply mortified by Mr. Pickwick’s refusal, that that gentleman, 
after a short reflection, said — 

“Well, well, Mr. Weller, I will keep the money. I can do 
more good with it, perhaps, than you can.” 

“Just the wery thing, to be sure,” said Mr. Weller, brighten- 
ing uj» ; “o’ course you can, Sir.” 

“Suy no more about it,” said Mr. Pickwick, locking the 
pocket-book in his desk “1 am heartily obliged to you, my 
good friend. Now sit down again ; I want to ask your advice.”. 


866 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


The internal laughter occasioned by the triumphant success 
of bis visit, which had convulsed not only Mr. Weller’s face, 
but his arms, legs, and body also, during the locking up of the 
pocket-book, suddenly gave place to the most dignified gravity 
os he heard these words. 

“Wait outside a few minutes, Sam, will you?” said Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

Sam immediately withdrew. 

Mr. Weller looked uncommonly wise and very much amazed, 
when Mr. Pickwick opened the discourse by saying — 

“You are not an advocate for matrimony, 1 think, Mr. Wel- 
ler ?” 

Mr. Weller shook his head. He was wholly unable to speak ; 
for vague thoughts of some wicked widow having been success- 
ful in her designs upon Mr. Pickwick, choked his utterance. 

“Did you happen to See a young girl down stairs when you 
came in just now with your son ?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Yes— I see a young gal,” replied Mr. Weller, shortly. 

“What did you think of her, now? — Candidly, Mr. Weller, 
what did you think of her ?” 

“ I thought she wos wery plump, and veil made,” said Mr. 
Weller, with a critical air. 

“ So she is,” said Mr. Pickwick, “ so she is. What did you 
think of her manners, from what you saw of her ?” 

“Wery pleasant,” rejoined Mr. Weller. “Wery pleasant 
and conformable.” 

The precise meaning which Mr. Weller attached to this last- 
mentioned adjective did not appear, but as it was evident from 
the tone in which he used it that it was a favorable expression, 
Mr. Pickwick was as well satisfied as if he had been thoroughly 
enlightened on the subject. 

“ 1 take a great interest in her, Mr. Weller,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

Mr. AVeller coughed. 

“ I mean an interest in her doing well,” resumed Mr. Pick- 
wick; “a desire that she may be comfortable and prosperous. 
You understand ?” 

Wery clearly,” replied Mr. Weller, who understood nothing 

yot 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


m 


'‘That young person,” said Mr. Pickwick, “is attached to 
your son.” 

“ To Samivel Teller 1” e.xclaiincd the parent. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“It’s nat’ral,” said Mr. AVeller, after some consideration, 
“ nat’ral, but raytlier alarmin’. Sammy must be careful.” 

“ How do you mean ?” inquired Mr Pickwick. 

“ Wery careful that he don’t say nothin’ to her,” responded 
Mr. Weller. “Wery careful that he ain’t led avay in a inno- 
cent moment to say any thin’ as may lead to a conwictioii for 
breach. Y'ou’re never safe vith ’em, Mr. Pickwick, ven they 
vunce has designs on you ; there’s no knowiii’ vere to have ’em, 
and vile you’re a-considering of it they have you. I wos mar- 
ried fust, that vay myself. Sir, and Sammy wos the coiisekens o* 
the manoover.” 

“ Y'ou give me no great encouragement to conelude what I 
have to say,” observed Mr. Pickwick, “ but I had better do so 
at once. This young person is not only attached to your son, 
Mr. Weller, but your son is attached to her.” 

“Tell,” said Mr. Weller, “ this here’s a pretty sort o’ thing 
to come to a father’s ears, this is !” 

“ I have observed them on several occasions,” said Mr. Pick- 
wick, making no comment on Mr. Weller’s last remark ; “and 
entertain no doubt at all about it. Supposing 1 were desirous 
of establishing them comfortably as man and wife in some little 
business or situation, where they might hope to obtain a decent 
living, what should you think of it, Mr. Weller ?” 

At first, Mr. Weller received with wry faces a proposition in- 
volving the marriage of any body in whom he took an interest, 
but as Mr. Pickwick argued the point with him, and laid great 
stress ui)on the fact that Mary was not a widow, he gradually 
became more tractable. Mr. Pickwick had great influence over 
him ; and he had been much struck with Mary’s a])pearance. 
having, in fact, bestowed several very unfatherly winks upon her, 
already. At length he said that it was not for him to oppose 
Mr. Pickwick’s inclination, and that he would be very happy to 
yield to his advice ; upon which Mr. Pickwick joyfully took him 
at his word and called Sam back into the room. 


868 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


said Mr. Pickwick, clearing his throat, ^‘jonr father 
and 1 have been having some conversation about yon.” 

“ About you, Samivel,” said Mr. Weller, in a patronizing and 
impressive voice. 

“I am not so blind, Sara, as not to have seen, a long tirao 
since, that you entertain something more than a friendly feeling 
towards Mrs. Winkle’s maid,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“You hear this, Samivel?” said Mr. Weller in the same ju- 
dicial form of s})eecb as before. 

“I hope. Sir,” said Sam, addressing his master, “I hope 
there’s no harm in a young man takin’ notice of a young ’ooinan 
as is undeniably good-looking and veil-conducted.” 

“Certainly not,” said Mr. Pickwick. 

“ Not by no means,” acquiesced Mr. Weller, affably, but ma- 
gisterially. , 

“ So far from thinking that there is any thing wrong in con- 
duct so natural,” resumed Mr. Pickwick, “ it is my wish to assist 
and promote your wishes in this respect. With this view I have 
had a little conversation with your father, and tinding that he is 
of my opinion — ” 

“ The lady not bein’ a vidder,” interposed Mr. Weller in e.x- 
plfiiiation. 

“ The lady not being a widow,” said iMr. Pickwick, smiling. 
“I wish to free you from the restraint which your present ])osi- 
tion imposes upon yon : and to mark my sense of your fidelity 
and many excellent qualities, by enabling you to fharry this girl 
at once, and to earn an indejiendent livelihood for yourself and 
family. I shall be proud, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, wliose 
voice had faltered a little hitherto, but now resumed its custom- 
ary tone, “ proud and happy to make your future pros[)ects in 
life my grateful and peculiar care.” 

Tliere was a profound silence for a short time, and then Sam 
aaid in a low, husky sort of voice, but firmly withal — 

“ I’m very much obliged to you for your goodness. Sir, as is 
only like yourself, but it can’t bo done.” 

“ Can’t be done !” ejaculated Mr I’ickwick in astonishment. 

“ Samivel !” said Mr. Weller, with dignity. 

“ I say it can’t be done,” repeated Sam in a louder key. 
" WoVs to become of you, Sir?” 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


669 


My good fellow,” repTied Mr. Pickwick, “the recent changes 
among my friends will alter iny mode of life in future, entirely ; 
besides 1 am growing older, and want repose and quiet. My 
rambles, Sam, arc over.” 

“How do I know that ’ere, Sir?” argued Sam ; “you think 
so now I S’posc you wos to change your mind, vich is not un- 
likely, for you’ve the si)irit o’ five-and-tventy in you still, — 
what, ’ud become on you vilhout me ? It can’t be done, Sir, it 
can’t be done.” 

“ Wery good, Samivel, there’s a good deal in that,” said Mr. 
Weller, encouragingly. 

“I speak after long deliberation, Sam, and with the cer- 
tainty that I shall keep my word,” said Mr. Pickwick, shaking 
his head. “ New scenes have closed upon me ; my rambles are 
at an end.” 

“ Wery good,” rejoined Sam. “ Then that’s the wery best 
reason wy you should alvays have somebody by 3’ou as under- 
stands you, to keep you up and make 3"ou comfortable. If you 
vant a more polished sort 0’ feller, veil and good, have him ; 
but vages or no vages, notice or no notice, board or no board, 
lodgin’ or no lodgin’, Sam Veller, as you took from the old inn 
in the Borough, sticks by you, come what come may ; and let 
ev’ry thin’ and ev’ry body do their very fiercest, nothin’ shall 
ever perwent it.” 

At the close of this declaration, which Sam made with great 
emotion, the elder Mr. Weller rose from his chair, and forget 
ting all considerations of time, place, or propriety, waved his 
hat above his head, and gave three vehement cheers. 

“My good fellow,” said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Wellerhad 
sat down again, rather abashed at his own enthusiasm, “you 
are bound to consider the young woman also.” 

“ I do consider the young ’ooman. Sir,” said Sam. “ I have 
considered the young ’ooman. I’ve spoke to her, I’ve told her 
how I’m sitivated, she’s ready to vait till I’m ready, and I 
believe she vill. If she don’t, she’s not the young ’oumnii 
I take her for, and I give her up vith readiness. You’ve 
know’d me afore. Sir. My mind’s made up, and nothin’ cun 
ever niter it.” 

Who could combat this resolution ? Not Mr. Pickwick. Ha 


870 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


derived at tliat moment more pride and luxury of feeling from 
the disinterested attachment of his humble friends, than ten 
thousand protestations from the greatest men living could have 
awakened in his heart. 

While this conversation was passing in Mr. Pickwick’s room, 
a little old gentleman in a suit of snuff-colored clothes, followed 
by a j)orter carrying a small portmanteau, })resented himself 
below ; and after securing a bed for the night, inquired of the 
waiter whether one Mrs. Winkle was staying there, to which 
question the waiter of course rpsponded in the affirmative. 

“ Is she alone?” in(|uired the little old gentleman. 

“ I believe she is, Sir,” replied the waiter; “1 can call her 
own maid, Sir, if you ” 

“No, I don’t want her,” said the old gentleman quickly 
“ Show me to her room without announcing me.” 

“ Eh, Sir ?” said the waiter. 

“Are you deaf?” inquired the little old gentleman. 

“No, Sir.” 

“Then listen, if you please. Can you hear me now?” 

“ Yes, Sir.” 

“That’s well. Show me to Mrs. Winkle’s room, without 
annoiuKfing me.” 

As the little old gentleman uttered this command, he slipped 
five shillings into the waiter’s hand, and looked steadily at him. 

“ Ileally, Sir,” said the waiter, “ I don’t know, Sir, whe- 
ther ’’ 

“ Ah ! you’ll do it, I see,” said the little old gentleman. 
“ You had better do it at once. It will save time.” 

There was something so very cool and collected in the gen- 
tleman’s manner, that the waiter ])ut the five shillings in his 
pocket, anJ led him up stairs without another word. 

“This is the room, is it?” said the gentleman. “You 
may go.” 

The waiter complied, wondering much who the gentleman 
couKl be, and what he wanted ; the little old gentleman waiting 
till he was out of sight, tapped at the door. 

“Come, in,” said Arabella. 

“Urn, a pretty voice at any rate,” murmured the little old 
genUeman; “ but that’s nothing ” As he said this, he opened 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 871 

the door and walked in. Arabella, who was sitting at work, 
rose on beholding a stranger — a little confused, but by uo 
means ungracefully so. 

“ Pray don’t rise, Ma’am,” said^the unknown, walking in and 
closing the door after him. Mrs. Winkle, I believe ?” 

Arabella inclined her head. 

Mrs. Nathaniel Winkle, who married the son of the old 
man at Birmingham ?” said the stranger, eyeing Arabella with 
visible curiosity. 

Again Arabella inclined her head, and looked uneasily round, 
as if uncertain whether to call for assistance. 

1 surprise you, I see, Ma’am,” said the old gentleman. 

“ Rather, I confess,” replied Arabella, wondering more and 
more. 

“I’ll take a chair, if you’ll allow me. Ma’am,” said the 
stranger. 

He took one ; and drawing a spectacle-case from his pocket, 
leisurely pulled out a pair of spectacles, which he adjusted on 
his nose. 

“You don’t know me. Ma’am ?” he said, looking so intently 
at Arabella, that she began to feel quite alarmed. 

“No, Sir,” she replied, timidly. 

“No,” said the gentleman, nursing his left leg; “I don’t 
know how you should. You know my name, though. Ma’am.” 

“ Do I ?” said Arabella, trembling, though she scarcely knew 
why. “ May I ask what it is ?” 

“ Presently, Ma’am, presently,” said the stranger, not having 
yet removed his eyes from her countenance. “ You have been 
recently married. Ma’am ?” 

“ I have,” replied Arabella, in a scarcely audible tone, lay 
ing aside her work, and becoming greatly agitated as a thought, 
that had occurred to her before, struck more forcibly upon her 
mind. 

“ Without having represented to your husband the propriety 
of first consulting his father, on whom he is dependent, I think ?” 
said the stranger. 

Arabella applied her handkerchief to her eyes. 

“Without an endeavor even to ascertain, by some indirect 
appeiil, what were the old man’s sentiments on a point in 


872 THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

which ne would naturally feel , much interested,” said the 
stranger. 

“I cannot deny it, Sir,” said Arabella. 

“And \Mthout having sulucient property of your own to 
afford your husband any peflnanent assistance in exchange for 
the worldly advantages which you knew he would have gained 
if he had married agreeably to his father’s wishes,” said ihe old 
gentleman. “This is what boys and girls call disinterested 
fiffectio-n, till they have boys and girls of their own, and then 
they see it in a rougher and very different light.” 

Arabella’s tears flowed fast, as she pleaded in extenuation 
that she was young and inexperienced ; that her attachment had 
alone induced her to take the step to which she had resorted, 
and that she had been deprived of the counsel and guidance 
of her parents almost from infancy. 

“ It was wrong,” said the old gentleman in a milder tone, 
“very wrong. It was romantic, unbusiness-like, foolish.” 

“It was my fault; all ray fault. Sir,” replied poor Arabella, 
weeping. 

“Nonsense,” said the old gentleman, “it was not your fault 
that he fell in love with you, 1 suppose. Yes, it was, though,” 
said the old gentleman, looking rather slyly at Arabella. “ It 
was your fault, lie couldn’t help it.” 

This little compliment, or the little gentleman’s odd way of 
paying it, or his altered manner — so much kinder ihan it was 
at first — or all three together, forced a smile from Arabella in 
the midst of her tears. 

“Where’s your husband?” inquired the old gentleman, 
abru]ffly ; stopping a smile which was just coming over his 
own face. 

“ I expect him every instant, Sir,” said Arabella. “ I per- 
suaded him to take a walk this morning. lie is very low and 
wretched at not having heard from his father.” 

“ Low, is he ?” said the old gentleman. “ Serve him right ” 

“lie feels it on my account, I am afraid,” said Arabella; 
“and indeed, Sir, I feel it deeply on his. I have been the sole 
means of bringing him to his present condition.” 

“ Don’t mind it on his account, my dear,” said the old gca- 


THE PICKWICK Pi^PERS. 


873 


ileman. “ It serves him right. I am glad of it — actually glad 
of it, as far as he is concerned.” 

The words were scarcely out of the old gentleman’s lips, 
when footsteps were heard ascending the stairs, which he and 
Arabella seemed both to recognize at the same moment. Tho 
little gentleman turned pale; and making a strong effort to 
apj)car composed, stood up as Mr. Winkle entered the room. 

“ Father!” said Mr. Winkle, recoiling in amazement. 

“Yes, Sir,” replied the little old gentleman. “Well, Sir, 
what have you got to say to me?” 

Mr. Winkle remained silent. 

“ You are ashamed ot yourself, I hope, Sir,” said the old 
gentleman. 

Still Mr. Winkle said nothing. 

“Are you ashamed of yonrst*f. Sir, or are you not?” in- 
quired the old gentleman. 

“ No, Sir,” replied Mr. Winkle, drawing Arabella’s arm 
through his. “ 1 am not ashamed of myself, or of my wife 
either.” 

“Upon my word!” cried the old gentleman, ironically. 

“ I am very sorry to have done any thing which has lessened 
your affection for me. Sir,” said Mr. Winkle; “but I will say at 
the same time, that I have no reason to be ashamed of having 
this lady for my wife, or you for havijig her for a daughter.” 

“ Give me your hand, Nat.,” said the old gentleman in an 
altered voice. “ Kiss me, my love ; you are a very charming 
daughter-in-law, after all!” 

In a few minutes’ time Mr. Winkle went in search of Mr. 
Pickwick, and returning with that gentleman, presented him 
to his father; whereupon they shook hands for hve minutes 
incessantly. 

“ Mr. Picktvick, I thank you most heartily for all your kind- 
ness to my son,” said old Mr. Winkle, in a bluff, straightfor- 
ward way. “ I am a hasty fellow, and when I saw you last, I was 
vc.xed and taken by surprise. I have judged for myself now, 
and am more than satished Shall I make any more a])ologies, 
Mr. Pickwick ?” 

“Not one,” replied that gentleman. “ You have done the 
only thing wanting to complete my happiness.” 


874 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


TTercnpon there was another shaking of hands for five minutes 
longer, accompanied by a great number of complimentary 
speeches, which, besides being complimentary, had the addi- 
tional and very novel recommendation of being sincere. 

Sam had dutifully seen his father to the Belle Sauvage, 
when, on returning, he encountered the fat boy in the court, 
who had been charged with the delivery of a note from Emily 
W ardle. 

“I say,” said Joe, who was unusually loquacious, “what a 
pretty girl Mary is, isn’t she ? I am so fond of her, I am !” 

Mr. Weller made no verbal remark in reply, but eyeing the 
fat boy for a moment, quite transfixed at his presumption, led 
him by the collar to the corner, and dismissed him with a 
harmless but ceremonious kick; after which, he walked home, 
whistling. 


CHAPTER LVIII. 


IN WHICH THE PICKWICK CLUB IS FINALIST DISSOLVED, AND 

EVERY THING CONCLUDED TO THE SATISFACTION OF EVERY 

BODY. 

For a whole week after the happy arrival of Mr. Winkle from 
Birminjrham, Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller were from home 
all day long, only returning just in time for dinner, and then 
wearing an air of mystery and importance quite foreign to their 
natures. It was evident that very grave and eventful proceed- 
ings were on foot, but various surmises were afloat respecting 
their precise character. Some (among whom was Mr. Tup- 
man) were disposed to think that Mr. Pickwick contemplated 
a matrimonial alliance, but this idea the ladies most strenuously 
repudiated; others rather inclined to the belief that he had 
projected some distant tour, and was at present occupied in 
effecting the preliminary arrangements ; but this again . was 
stoutly denied by Sam himself, who had unequivocally stated, 
when cross-examined by Mary, that no new journeys were to 
be undertaken. At length, when the brains of the whole party 
had been racked for six long days by unavailing speculation, 
it was unanimously resolved that Mr. Pickwick should be called 
upon to explain his conduct, and to state distinctly, why he 
had thus absented himself from the society of his admiring 
friends. 

With this view, Mr. Wardle invited the full circle to dinner 
at the Adelphi, and the decanters having been twice sent round, 
opened the business. 

“ We are all anxious to know,” said the old gentleman, “what 
we hav’^e done to olfend you, and to induce you to dcseit us and 
devote yourself to these solitary walks.” 

“ Are you ?” said Mr. Pickwick. “ It is singular enough 
that I had intended to volunteer a full explanation this very 

( 876 ) 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


m 

day, so if you will give me another glass of wine I will satisfy 
your curioshy.” 

The decanters passed from hand to hand with unwonted 
briskness, and Mr. Pickwick looking round on the faces of his 
friends with a cheerful smile, proceeded — 

“ All the changes that have taken place among us,” said Mr 
Pickwick, “ I mean the marriage that Jias taken i)lace, and the 
marriage that will take place, with the changes they involve, 
j’endered it necessary for me to think soberly and at once upon 
my future plans. I determined on retiring to some quiet, pretty 
neighborhood in the vicinity of London ; I saw a house which 
exactly suited my fancy. I have taken it and furnished it. It 
is fully prepared for my reception, and I intend entering upon 
it at once, trusiiug that I may yet live to spend many quiet 
years in peaceful rttireraent; cheered through life by the society 
of my friends, and followed in death by their allcctionate re- 
membrance.” 

Here Mr. Pickwick paused, and a low murmur ran round the 
table. " 

“The house I have taken,” said 'Mr. Pickwick, “is at Pul- 
wich ; it has a large garden, and is situated in one of the most 
pleasant spots near London. It has been fitted up with every 
attention to substantial comfort; perhaps to a littie elegance 
besides; but of that you shall judge for yourselves. Sam 
accompanies me there. I have engaged, on Perker’s rej)resen- 
tation, a housekeei'er---a very old one — and such other servants 
as she tliiuks I shall require. 1 propose to consecrate this little 
retreat by liaving a ceremony, in which I take a great interest, 
performed tliere. I wish, if my friend Wardle entertains no 
objection, that his daughter should be married from my new 
house, on the day I take jiossession of it. Tlie happiness of 
youiiff peo])le,” said Mr. Pickwick, a tittle moved, “has ever 
been the chief pleasure of my life. It will warm mv heart to 
witness tlie happiness of those friends who are dearest to me, 
beneaiii my own roof.” 

Mr. I'ickwick paused again : and Emily and Arabella sobbed 
audibly 

“ I have communicated, both personally and by letter, with 
the club,” resumed Mr. Pickwick, “acquainting them with my 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


877 


intention. During our long absence it has suffered much from 
intei’ual dissensions; and the withdrawal of iny name, coupled 
with tliis and other circumstances, has occasioned its dissolution. 
The Pickwick Club exists no longer. 

“I shall never regret,” said Mr. Pickwick in a low voice — “I 
shall never regret having devoted the greater part of two years 
to mixing with different varieties and shades of human charac- 
ter, frivolous as niy pursuit of novelty may have appeared to 
many. Nearly the whole of my yirevious life having been devo- 
ted to business and the pursuit of wealth, numerous scenes of 
which I had no j)revious conception have dawned upon me — I 
hope to the enlargement of my mind, and the improvement of 
my understanding. If I have done but little good, I trust I 
have done less harm, and that none of my adventures will be 
other than a so4irce of amusing and ])leasanb recollections to me 
in the decline of life. God bless you all.” 

AVith these words, Mr. Pickwick tilled and drained a bumper 
with a trembling hand ; and his eyes moistened as his friends 
rose with one accord and pledged him from their hearts. 

There were very few preparatory arrangements to be made 
for the marriage of jNlr. Snodgrass. As he had neither father 
nor mother, and had been in his minority a ward of Mr. Pick- 
wick’s, that gentleman was perfectly well acquainted with his 
possessions and prospects. Ilis account of both was (piite 
satisfactory to Wardlc — as almost any other account would havo 
been, for the good old gentleman was overflowing with hilarity 
and kindness — and a handsome portion having been bestowed 
Ujmn Kmily, the marriage was fixed to take place on the fourth 
day from that time; the suddenness of which preparations re- 
duced three dress-makers and a tailor to the extreme verge of 
insanity. 

Getting post-horses to the carriage, old AVardle started off 
next flay, to bring his mother up to town. Communicating his 
intelligence to the old lady with characteristic inyietuositv, she 
instantly fainted away, but being promptly revived, ordered the 
brocaded silk gown to be packed up fortliwith, and proceeded 
to relate some circumstances of a similar nature atlending the 
marriage of the eldest daughter of Lady Toliiuglower, deceased, 


878 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 

• r ]<' ■ ■ 

which occupied three hours in the recital, and were not half 
finished at last. 

Mrs Trundle had to be informed of all the mighty prepara- 
tions that were making in London ; and being in a delicate state 
of health was informed thereof through Mr. Trundle, lest the 
news should be too much for her ; but it was not too much for 
her, inasmuch as she at once wrote off to Muggleton to order a 
new cap and a black satin gown, and moreover avowed her de- 
termination of being present at the ceremony. Hereupon Mr. 
Trundle called in the doctor, and the doctor said Mrs. Trundle 
ought to know best how she felt herself, to which Mrs. Trundle 
replied that she felt herself quite equal to it, and that she had 
made up her mind to go ; upon which the doctor, who was a 
wise and discreet doctor, and knew what was good for himself 
as well as for other people, said, that perhaps if Mrs. Trundle 
stopped at home she might hurt herself more by fretting than by 
going, so perhaps she had better go. And she did go ; the 
doctor with great attention sending in half a dozen of medi- 
cine to be drunk upon the road. 

In addition to these points of distraction, Wardle was intrusted 
with two small letters to two small young ladies who were to 
act as bridesmaids ; upon the receipt of which, the two young 
ladies were driven to despair by having no “things” ready for 
BO important an occasion, and no time to make them in — a cir- 
cumstance which appeared to afford the two worthy papas of 
the two small young ladies rather a feeling of satisfaction than 
otherwise. However, old frocks were trimmed and new bon- 
nets made, and the young ladies looked as well as could possibly 
have been expected of them ; and as they cried at the subse- 
quent ceremony in the proper places and trcm))led at the right 
times, they acquitted themselves to the admiration of all be- 
holders. 

How the two poor relations ever reached London — whether 
they walked, or got behind coaches, or ])rocured lifts iii wagons, 
or carried each other — it is uncertain, but there they were, before 
Wardle ; and the very first people that knocked at the door of 
Mr. Pickwick’s house on the bridal morning, were the two poor 
relations, all smiles and shirt-collar. 

They were welcomed heartily though, for riches or poverty 


THB PICKWICK PAPERS, 


87f 


had no influence on Mr. Pickwick ; the new servants were all 
alacrity and readiness : Sara in a most unrivaled state of high 
spirits and excitement, and Mary glowing with beauty and 
smart ribbons. 

The bridegroom, who had been staying at tiie house for two 
or three days previously, sallied forth gallantly to Dulwich 
church to meet the bride, attended by Mr. Pickwick, Ben Allen, 
Bob Sawyer, and Mr. Tupman, with Sam Weller outside, having 
at his button hole a white favor, the gift of his lady-love, and 
clad in a new and gorgeous suit of livery invented expressly 
for the occasion. They were met by the Wardles, and the 
Winkles, and the bride and bridesmaids, and the Trundles ; and 
the ceremony having been performed, the coaches rattled back 
to Mr. Pickwick’s to breakfast, where little Mr. Perker already 
awaited them. 

Here, all the light clouds of the more solemn part of the pro- 
ceedings passed away; every face shone forth joyously, and 
nothing was to be heard but congratulations and commenda- 
tions. Every thing was so beautiful I The lawn in front, the 
garden behind, the miniature conservatory, the dining-room, the 
drawing-room, the bed-rooms, the smoking-room, and above all, 
the study with its pictures and easy chairs, and odd cabinets, 
and queer tables, and books out of number, with a large cheer- 
ful window opening upon a pleasant lawn and commanding a 
pretty landscape, just dotted here and there with little houses 
almost hidden by trees ; and then the curtains, and the carpets, 
and the chairs, and the sofas I Every thing was so beautiful, so 
compact, so neat, and in such exquisite taste, said every body, 
that there really was no deciding what to admire most. 

And in the midst of all this, stood Mr. Pickwick, his counte- 
nance lighted up with smiles, which the heart of no man, woman, 
or child, could resist : himself the happiest of the group, shaking 
hands over and over again with the same people, and when his 
own were not so employed, rubbing them with pleasure ; turning 
round in a diflferent direction at every fresh expression of grati- 
fication or curiosity, and inspiring every body with his looks of 
gladness and delight. 

Breakfast is announced. Mr. Pickwick leads the old lady 
(who has been very eloquent on the subject of Lady ToUing* 
5fl 


880 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


lower) to the top of a long table ; Wardle takes the bottom, 
the friends arrange themselves on either side, Sam takes his 
station behind his master’s chair, the laughter and talking cease ; 
Mr. Pickwick having said grace, pauses for an instant and 
looks round him. As he does so, the tears roll down his checks 
in the fullness of his joy. 

Let us leave our old friend in one of those moments of 
nnmixed happiness, of which, if we seek them, there are ever 
some to cheer our transitory existence here. There are dark 
shadows on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast 
Some men, like bats or owls, have better eyes for the darkness 
than for the light ; we, who have no such optical powers, are 
better pleased to take our last parting look at the visionary 
companions of many solitary hours, when the brief sunshine of 
the world is blazing full upon them. 


It is the fate of most men who mingle with the world and 
attain even the prime of life, to make many real friends, and lose 
them in the course of naWe. It is the fate of all authors or 
chroniclers to create imaginary friends, and lose them in the 
course of art. Nor is this the full extent of their misfortunes ; 
for they are required to furnish an account of them besides. 

In compliance with this custom — unquestionably a bad one — 
we subjoin a few biographical words in relation to the party at 
Mr Pickwick’s a^embled. 

Mr. and Mrs. Winkle being fully received into favor by the 
old gentleman, were shortly afterwards installed in a newly-built 
house, not half a mile from Mr. Pickwick’s. Mr, Winkle being 
engaged in the city as agent or town correspondent of his 
father, exchanged his old costume for the ordinary dress of 
Englishmen, and presented all the external appearance of a 
civilized Christian ever afterwards. 

Mr. and Mrs. Snodgrass settled at Dingley Dell, where tney 
purchased and cultivated a small farm, more for occupation 
than profit. Mr. Snodgrass, being occasionally absti acted and 
melancholy, is to this day reputed a great poet among his 
friends and acquaintance, although wc do not find that he hea 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 881 

ever written any thing to encourage the belief. We know many 
celebrated characters, literary, philosophical, and otherwise, who 
hold a high reputation on a similar tenure. 

Mr. Tupman, when his friends married and Mr. Pickwick 
settled, took lodgings at Richmond, where he has ever since 
resided. lie walks constantly on the Terrace during the sum- 
mer months, with a youthful and janty air, which has rendered 
him the admiration of the numerous elderly ladies of single con- 
dition, who reside in the vicinity. He has never proposed 
again. 

Mr. Bob Sawyer, having previously passed through the 
Gazette, passed over to Bengal, accompanied by Mr. Benjamin 
Allen, both gentlemen having received surgical appointments 
from the East India Company. They each had the yellow fever 
fourteen times, and then resolved to try a little abstinence, 
since which period they have been doing well. 

Mrs. Bardell let lodgings to many conversable single gentle- 
men with great profit, but never brought any more actions for 
a breach of promise of marriage. Her attorneys, Messrs. Dod- 
son and Fogg, continue in business, from which they realize a 
large income, and in which they are universally considered 
among the sharpest of the sharp. 

Sam Weller kept his word, and remained unmarried for two 
years. The old housekeeper dying at the end of that time, Mr. 
Pickwick promoted Mary to the situation, on condition of her 
marrying Mr. Weller at once, which she did without a murmur. 
From the circumstance of two sturdy little boys having been 
repeatedly seen at the gate of the back garden, we have reason 
to suppose that Sam has some family. 

The elder Mr. Weller drove a coach for twelve months, but 
being afflicted with the gout, was compelled to retire. The 
contents of the pocket-book had been so well invested for him, 
however, by Mr. Pickwick, that he had a handsome indepen- 
dence to retire on, upon wdiich he still lives at an excellent 
public-house near Shooter’s Hill, wiiere he is quite reverenced as 
an oracle, boasting very much of his intimacy with Mr. Pick- 
wick, and retaining a most unconquerable aversion to widows. 

Mr. Pickwick himself continued to reside in his new house, 
employing his eisure hours in arranging the memoranda which 


8S2 


THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 


bo afterwards presented to the secretary of the once famous 
clnb, or in hearing Sam Weller read aloud, with such remarks as 
suggested themselves to his mind, which never failed to affoid 
Mr. Pickwick great amusement. He was much troubled at first 
by the numerous applications which were made to him by Mr. 
Snodgrass, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Trundle, to act as godfather to 
their offspring, but he has become used to it now, and officiates 
as a matter of course. lie never had occasion to regret his 
bounty to Mr. Jingle, for both that person and Job Trotter 
became in time worthy members of society, although they have 
always steadily objected to return to the scenes of their old 
haunts and temptations. He is somewhat infirm now, but he 
retains all his former juvenility of spirit, and may still be fre- 
quently seen contemplating the pictures in the Dulwich Gallery, 
or enjoying a walk about the pleasant neighborhood on a fine 
day. He is known by all the poor people about, who never 
fail to take their hats off as he passes with great respect ; the 
children idolize him, and so indeed does the whole neighborhood. 
Every year he repairs to a large family merry-making at Mr. 
Wardle’s ; on this, as on all other occasions, he is invariably 
attended by the faithful Sam, between whom and his master 
there .exists a steady and reciprocal attachment, which nothing 
but death will sever. 


THE END. 


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